^<lu^a, 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


1.1 


■"  tii   12.2 


IL25  III  1.4 


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1.6 


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Hiotographic 
_Scieiices 
Corporation 


23  WfST  MAIN  STREfT 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  M5S0 

(716)  STriSOa 


K<^. 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibllographlques 


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0 


D 


D 
D 


n 


Coloured  covers/ 
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I     I    Covers  damaged/ 


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Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurie  et/ou  pelliculte 


I      I    Cover  title  missing/ 


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D 


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Th 
to 


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Th 
po 
of 
fill 


Or 
be 
thi 
sio 
oti 
fin 
sic 
or 


Th 
sh 
Til 
w» 

Ml 
dif 
en 
be< 

rig 
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This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  f llmA  au  taux  de  rMuction  indiquA  ci-dessous 

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20X 

30X 

y 

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16X 

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24X 

28X 

32X 

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1  2  3 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

PRICE  FIFTY  CENTS. 


{ 


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V 


PRICE   TWENTY-FIVE    CENTS. 


NEW   YORK 


BY 


GAS-LIGHT  . 


BY    G.    6.    FOSTER,    Esq., 

Author  of  "  titia  Jgorfc  in  HUctn"  iet. 


(Tnntf  nta : 


BROADWAY  AT     EVENING. 

Sceneii  ut  the  Cuunoniiua, 
The  Oysier  Cellnra, 
Midnight  UrRies, 
Uroudwuy  usiuep. 


The  Sidewiilker, 
HiM>kliig  It  Viciiiii, 
Mu:<ic  liiid  the  Uruiiiinoad 
Lights, 


MODEL 

The  Wulhalla. 
SuMHnniih  in  the  Bath, 
Ur.  C.iilyer, 
Illstor>  uf  Model  AttUts, 


ARTISTS. 

Tiiinbly  and  the  Living 

t^tatiies, 
Thti  Goddiesses  and  the 

Pulice, 


lleflentioiis. 

BOWLING  AND  BILLIARD  SALOONS. 

Rooms  versuii  Saloons,  The  Tall  Son  of  V'ork, 

Plucking  a  Pigeon,  Horn  and  hln  Last,  and  his 

Contrast!*  of  Chiiracter,  Chuuis. 

THE  GOLDEN  GATE  OF  HELL. 

Prostitution  in  General,  The  Fashionable  Brothel, 

A  Description  thai  thou-      Personal   llislor)-  uf  Two 
sandd  will  recognise.  Cyprians, 

A  NIGHT  RAMBLE. 

TheUp-staira  Drinking  Sa-      The  Widows, 

loons.  Private  Gambling, 

Fashionable  OysterPalace,      Contrasts  and  Contempla- 
The  Bowery  Kuffle,  tlons. 


BUTTER 
The  Press, 

The  Newsboys, 
Murk  Magulre, 
Mike  Madden, 


CAKE  DICK'S. 
Tommy  Ryan, 
Sunday  night  with  the 

Newsboys, 
The  Trade  in  Newspapers 


THE  POINTS 

The  Love  of  Civilization, 

Regent's  Park, 

Cow  Bay, 

The  "OUl  Brewery," 

The  Fences, 

THE  ICE  CR 

A  Streak  of  Sunshihe, 
The   Fashionab.'e  Lunch 
for  Upper-teudoin, 


AT  NIGHT. 

Wholesale  and  Retail 
Warehouse, 

Facts  respecting  the  Re- 
form uf  Courtesans. 

EAMERIES. 
Well-known  Characters, 
The  Steam  Ice-Creamery 
Cootolt's. 


THI:    DANCE    HOUSE. 

Pete  Williams's,  or  Dick-  A  Liberal  Description, 

eiis's  Place,  Curious   Facts   about  the 
The  House  and  Cave  In  Lives  of  Proatltutet. 

Water  at. 


THEATRES  AND 

Miss  Charlotte  Cushman, 

Old  Drury, 

Mager's  Saloon  in  Eliza- 
beth St, 

The  Italian  Opera, 

'file  Aristocracy  of  New 
York, 


AMUSEMENTS. 
Epitaph  in  Prose, 
Third  Tiers, 
TheDutchDrkinaandBhll- 

llng  Concerts, 
Max    Maretzek    and   his 

White  Neckcloth, 
The  Picture  Galleries, 


THE  LIGHT  FANTASTIC  TOE. 

Duncing  in  New  York,  Another  of  the  same  sort. 

Extra  Doings,  only  a  little  more  so. 

The  Grand  BuU  at  Castle      Flotilla  Balto,  fcc. 
Hastings, 

MOSE   AND   LIZE. 


The  Philosophy  of  the 

B'hoys, 
Ditto  of  the  G'ha Is, 
Llze  at  Work, 
Lize  at  her  Toilette, 


LIxe  and  the  Fashionable 

Lady, 
The  Target  Excursion, 
^'he  Fireman, 
Materials  for  a  New  Lite- 
ral uie. 


THEDOG-W.^TCH. 

Thieves  and  Burners  A  Night's  Experiences, 

"about,"  Winding  up  of  Mr.  Green's 

Doing  a  Countryman,  Adventures. 

A  Scene  Underground,  Night  in  the  Tombs, 

ModelArtists  in  dishabille 

SATURDAY   NIGHT. 
The  Weekly  Holiday,  The  Old  Woman's  Basket 

The  Markets,  and  Dilemma, 

Washington  Market,  Catharine  Market, 

The  Poor. 


THE  CITY 

The  Station  House, 
The  "Tombs," 
The  Battery  Loafers, 


AT  DAYLIGHT. 

The  Daylight, 
Market  Horning, 
Sunri$t,  and  fkreicM. 


J^tm    Dork: 
DEWITT    &    DAVENPORT,    TRIBUNE    BUILDINGS. 

I860. 


-tef, 


'*>*■■  ■•^t>.&i,„^^t^' 


v*-*".!;; 


THE 


v|0 


A*^^ 


MONK     KNIGHT 


or 


ST.    JOHN. 


^  STaie  of  tl)e  €ru5a^e0. 


BT 


MAJOR   RICHARDSON, 

KNIOBT  OF  ST.  FEROIKAND, 
AUTHOR     OK     "ECARTE,"     "  W  A  C  0  ;;  S  T  A  ,"      ETC. 


NEW  YORK: 
DEWITT  AND  DAVENPORT, 

TKIBCNK       BCILDIHG8. 
1850. 


? 


^„ 


"r^ 


1'/  'i: 


«*• 


«•  >■ 


.-ifk 


■»  ■' 


-         % 


H 


g 

•»* 


■r 

/ 


i  ■   't 


^'^■t.?* 


"     Entered  Mcording  to  the  Act  of  Congreu,  in  the  year  1BS0« 
By  dew  ITT  &  DAVENPORT, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  tbe  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  fur  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


>•'  :t'' 


..^.>^^ 


THE  MONK  KNIGHT  OF  ST.  JOHN. 


w^ 


^  *■ 


>>''' 


CHAPTER    I. 


^  .         INTRODUCTORY. 

Rkturnino  from  San  Sehastian  in  the  autumn  of  1837,  by  the  way  of 
San  Juan  de  Luz,  Bayonne  and  Bordeaux,  and  being  desirous  of  visiting 
Auvergne,  where  I  had  heard  there  was  an  old  chateau,  connected  with 
which  was  some  wild  traditionary  tale,  I  determined  to  gratify  the  strong 
curiosity  1  felt,  personally,  to  inform  myself  if  there  really  was  any  good 
foundation  for  a  story  which  had  been  related  to  me  by  an  elderly  French 
gentleman  in  the  latter  charming  town. 

Having  at  my  disposal  plenty  of  that  commodity  which  belongs  to  idle 
men — leisure — I  sent  on  my  baggage  by  diligence  to  Amiens,  merely 
reserving  a  change  of  linen,  &c.,  which  was  carefiilly  stowed  away  in  my 
light  knapsack.  Thus  equipped,  with  my  gun  on  my  shoulder,  and  with  a 
bottle  of  the  host  cogniac  the  Hotel  de  Lille  could  afford,  stuck  in  one  of  the 
ample  side-pockets  of  my  shooting  jacket,  I  set  forth  m  route.  It  is  need- 
less to  fatigue  the  reader  with  the  details  of  the  journey,  therefore,  I  will  at 
once  introduce  him  to  the  old  garde  chasse,  who,  in  the  absence  of  his 
Seigneur,  and  indeed  in  that  of  every  other  member  of  the  household,  seemed 
to  combine  in  his  person  all  the  offices  usual  to  the  establishment,  for  with 
the  exception  of  a  little  shoeless  gar^on  who  attended  to  the  cows,  and  a 
couple  of  Spanish  pointers,  nearl  ■»  old  as  their  master,  there  was  nothing 
bearing  life  to  be  seen  about  the  4' j.;o. 

When,  following  the  course  of  the  1  arrow  Dordogne,  I  reached  the  venerable 
pile,  which  was  situated  about  three  leagues  from  Clermont,  and  bordering 
upon  a  forest  that  swept  semicircularly  round  its  wings  towards  the  front,  I 
found  the  sun-burnt  garde  chasse  seated  on  the  bank  of  a  streamlet,  which  ran 
outside  the  grass-covered  elevation  that  denoted  the  once  existence  of  a 
battlement,  and  arranging  the  flint  of  his  gun — his  two  old  dogs  crouching 
meanwhile  at  his  feet — evidently  watching  his  movements  and  anticipating 
sport. 

Here  was  the  very  man  for  my  purpose,  and  engaged  in  the  manner  in 
which  I  most  could  have  desired  to  have  seen  him.  The  freemasonry  of  the 
gun  is  not  a  bad  letter  of  introduction. 


Good  morning,  brother 


sportsman," 
S 


1  said,  approaching  him,  for  the 


THE    MONK    KNIOHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


low  growling  of  his  doga  had  told  him  th»t  a  stranger  was  near.  He  looked 
up,  and  I  touched  my  cap  tu  him  in  salutation. 

*'  Ah  !  pardieu,  Monsieur,"  he  exclaimed  in  his  own  tongue — that  in  which 

I  had  addressed  him  ;  "  I  am  very  glad  to  sec  you.     I  was  thinking  what 

dull  work  it  would  be  without  a  companion,  and  hero  yon  are,  all  equipped, 

as  if  St.  Peter  himself  had  sent  you  from  Heaven  to  my  aid.     We  shall  have 

'-'A  capital   sport,  sir  ;    few    people   venture  here    to  disturl)  the  birds,  and   1 

^.<v  having  had  a  twiugo  of  the  rheumatism,  have   not  been   out   for  a  week 

";  past." 

•'  And  so  am  I  well  pleased  to  have  met  you,"  I  said.  "  When  I  venture 
in  pursuit  of  game  I  prefer  to  have  an  experienced  hand  like  yourself  to 
lead  the  way.  Capital  pointers  those  of  yours.  Of  the  real  Spanish 
breed,  I  perceive!" 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  ;  neither  of  them  can  be  less  than  nine  years  of  age. 
Their  noses  are  well  used  to  the  scent.     But,  allons.    The  sun  is  beginning   » 
K '  to  get  a  little  fierce,  and  if  wo  would  escape  a  broiling,  we  must  gain  the 

'wtj  •  cover  of  the  wood.     But  perhaps  Monsieur  would  like  some  refreshment 

first.  The  (chateau  de  Boiscourt  does  not  afford  what  it  did  when  my  great- 
great-greatgrandfather  was  steward  to  the  noble  Baron,  who  served  in 
the  tvrre  siiintc  in  the  time  of  the  crusades,  but  at  least  it  can  furnish 
Fromagc  de  Rochefort  and  Neufchatel,  bread  baked  by  my  own  hands,  and 
eau  de  vie !  cninme  ffl." 

Hero  lie  had  himself  touched  upon  the  outwork  of  the  subject  I  was  so 
^  anxious  to  introduce,  but  I  felt  that  this  was  not  the  moment  to  pursue  it. 

1  might  startle  him — excite  suspicion  as  to  my  motive — put  him  upon  his 
guard,  and  thus  hear  nothing.  I  trusted,  however,  to  my  well-filled  flask 
of  cogniac  to  draw  forth  the  garrulity  of  the  garde  chaste  at  a  subsequent 
period  of  the  day — if  indeed  there  was  anything  to  be  communicated. 

"  1  tJiank  you,"  1  said,  in  reply  to  his  offer  of  refreshment,  "  I  break- 
fasted at  a  farm-house  about  half  way  between  this  and  Clermont ;  besides,  . 
voUa  de  la  bonne,  goxtez  en;"'  and  I  handed  him  the  flask  to  judge  for  himself. 
"  Pardieu"  ho  exclaimed,  after  having  sipped  a  good  wine-glass  full, 
"  this  is  indeed  la  veritable ;  1  am  afraid  that  I  have  none  such  to  offer  you." 
"  It  will  restore  us  when  fatigued  with  our  walk  after  the  birds,"  I  re- 
turned.    "  Let  us  be  off,  then." 

"  I  see  Monsieur  has  no  dog,"  observed  the  old  man,  as  we  moved  off  to- 
wards a  distant  copse  which  he  said  abounded  with  partridges,  "  viens 
■Coco,  viens  Toto." 

"  I  lost  my  dog  on  my  way  from  San  Juan  de  Luz  to  Bordeaux,"  1  replied. 
"  These  are  very  magnificent  grounds,"  I  continued,  after  a  pause.  "  al- 
though I  must  confess  the  chateau  is  a  little  the  worse  for  wear.  You  say 
that  your  great-great-grandfather  was  born  here.  Have  all  your  family, 
from  him,  been  born  here  ?" 

"  Pardieu.'  and  his  great-great-grandfather  before  him.  Monsieur  forgets 
I  spoke  of  Uie  time  of  the  crusade  in  the  Holy  Land.  My  fathers  have 
lived  with  the  Barons  de  Boiscourt  from  their  first  existence  as  a  family 
We  know  all  their  secrets  ;  and,"  putting  his  finger  on  the  tip  of  his  nose, 
"  we  know  how  to  keep  them,  too." 


I.    >. 


^■*>4;.. 


THE    iMONK    KNIO)lT    OK    ST.    JOHN. 


I  was  not  Horry  tluit  Coco  ui  that  monunit  started  a  covey  of  partridgcH, 
for  1  felt  titat  I  had  been  imprudent  in  tliua  tulkin^^  of  other  timn  gnncrul 
muttert.     1  N.aid  no  inure. 

Our  sport  ihronj^liout  the  day  was  fair — the  iiardy  garde  rhasse  bugging 
twenty  brace,  and  niyHolf  sixteen  and  a  liiilf.  More  tlian  onco  he  liad  com- 
plained of  a  return  of  liin  rhcumatiBni,  and  I  had  prevKiliMJ  upon  iiim  occa- 
sionally to  rcHt,  and  as  often  to  restore  hiinwlf  from  my  brandy  flask,  liy 
this  time,  we  were  the  best  friends  in  the  world,  and  when  we  had  returiuid 
home,  literally  laden  with  our  game,  nothing  would  induce  the  old  man  to 
part  with  so  good  a  cumaradc  until  the  morning. 

This  was  exactly  what  I  had  desired,  and  although  1  pretended  that  1  had 
no  time  to  spare,  but  must  be  in  Clermont  that  night,  I  yielded,  with  what 
gratification  it  may  be  presumed,  to  his  proposal,  to  give  me  the  only  bed- 
room that  was  kept  in  any  sort  of  repair,  yet  which  coittained  the  nuptial 
bed,  preserved  as  a  sort  of  heir-loom,  of  the  first  Baron  de  Boiscourt,  who 
had  served  in  Palestine. 

About  nine  o'clock,  our  supper  of  partridges  and  home-made  bread,  mois- 
tened on  my  part  by  the  very  indifferent  eau  de  vie  of  the  gai'tk  rhasse 
having  been  dispatched,  and  a  pipe  smoked,  the  old  man  conducted  me  to  my 
dormitory.  The  chateau  was,  as  has  been  represented,  very  old  indeed. 
The  outside  being  built  of  stone,  had  borne  the  ravages  of  age  pretty  well, 
but  it  was  evident  that  the  interior  had  many  and  many  a  time  bt^eu  re- 
newed. One  end  Of  the  foundation  had  evidently  sunk,  for  there  was  an 
inclination  in  that  direction  which  threatened  to  overthrow  it  altogether, 
were  it  not  for  the  support  of  strong  oaken  props  placed  at  the  gable-end. 
The  wide  staircase  that  conducted  from  the  lower  apartments  where  we  had 
supped,  (indeed,  we  had  taken  our  meal  where  we  had  cooked  it — in  the 
kitchen) — was  crazy  and  worm-eaten,  the  balustrades  gone,  and  the  footing, 
consequently,  anything  but  secure.  Arrived  at  the  first  landing,  we  passed 
along  a  corridor  of  some  extent,  and  then,  turning  abruptly  to  the  left, 
entered  what  had  the  appearance  of  having  been  a  salon,  at  the  end  of  which 
was  a  shorter  corridor,  or  passage,  opening  into  a  large  bed-room — the  same 
alluded  to  by  the  garde  chasse. 

The  oil  lamp,  which  the  latter  carried  in  his  hand,  did  not  throw  much  light 
upon  surrounding  objects.  Everything  wore  a  sombre  look,  and  was  unin- 
viting enough.  The  high  ebony  bedstead,  which  had  evidently  once  been  richly 
carved,  exhibited  but  faint  traces  of  the  sculptor's  chisel.  One  of  its  broken 
legs  had  been  replaced  by  another  of  mahogany,  while  the  bed  itself,  though 
far  more  modern,  did  not  exhibit  the  moat  tempting  appearance.  It  needed 
no  great  penetration  to  see  that  the  whole  was  a  relic  of  by-gone  centuries. 
The  large  and  tall-backed  chairs,  of  ebony  also,  were  much  in  the  same  con- 
dition, and  the  floors  of  those  rooms,  like  all  others  in  the  chateau,  being 
paved  with  the  rude  tiles  that  were  in  general  use  in  France  in  the  eleventh 
century,  were  in  many  parts  crumbling  to  decay.  There  was  little  of  the 
ornamental  in  the  arrangements  of  those  apartments,  and  the  only  things 
that  attracted  my  attention  were  a  large  ebony  crucifix,  and  a  group  of  three 
figures — tall  as  life,  beautifully  carved,  in  high  relief,  and,  with  clasped 
hands,  grouped  round  a  figure  of  Cupid,  bearing  a  torch  in  his  right  hand. 


A     1 


*i 


•.KS. 


W 


i    M 


>     \ 


-  ..-    '^-p*;*' 


^> 


THF.    MONK    KNIOHT    ON    f>T.     lOHV. 


*■•• 


Tli»)  «iH'  wa.-t  a  I't'iuJili'  I'l  luuliltf  M/.r.  t)i>aiitt('iillv  toriru'd — tht'  .wcoii'l  a 
kiii({lil-crii«fidtr  in  Iiim  war  ilrt'MS — ;iiiii  lli,'  third  .1  vi'ry  rail  and  lyiiuiu'lrically 
tuniiud,  thdii^li  lailiir  liriivy  warrior,  who-ii'  (-(wttiiuif,  and  partifuiarly  iho 
croHN  cut  |iroiain(nitly  nii  hin  \vt\  hr»<nAt.  diiintfd  litm  In  Ix'  a  kiiiirht  of  the 
brulhrrluKMi  of  St.  jiilin. 

From  what  I  iiad  Inard  ol'th*;  tradition,  iIh-  i^haracti'r  ot'tiiiH  Qronp,  wh^'h 
stood  brtwt'iMi  lh(^  head  ot'  th<>  hiMl.Mtrad  and  llit-  daiii|t  wall,  Ictt  im:  no  room 
to  doiilit  thai  tho  rumor  wius  corrcc-t.  I  ;i.skfd,  with  as  iiiurli  iiidiHeri'iioo 
as  (could  iisMunu',  whom  the  tahlcau  was  meant  to  represent,  olwervinir  at  the 
same  limn  that  its  a^c  iiiUHt  ho  ncHrlv  coeval  with  that  ol'  the  cliateau.  The 
gmiJi  (hnxsc,  who  hail  holpcd  himsolf.  as  I  intended  he  should,  from  my 
cogiiiao  Wtle,  until  lie  hiMviine  cominiinicativ(>,  was  now  hy  no  in«>an9 
disposed  to  tacittmiity. 

'•  Ah,  Monsieur,"  he  said,  '•  there  \s  a  curious  story  ahout  tiiesc  ligurea. 
They  rcpreneiit  the  Haroness,  who  is  said  to  have  been  the  best,  the  kindest- 
hearted,  and  the  most  beautiful  woman  of  her  day  in  nil  Franco — tiie  Raroii, 
her  liusband,  and  Ah<hillah,  a  monk  knight  of  the  Holy  (-ross,  and  the  sworn 
friend  of  the  Baron." 

My  curiosity  became  more  and  more  excited — my  interest  was  inietise. 

"  And  what,  my  ^wmI  friend — but  try  another  gmit  of  brandy.  I  think  tho 
night  is  chilly,  and  after  WiUking  so  much,  the  ni^ht  air  may  bring  un  a 
return  of  the  rheumatism.  What,  my  brave  rninaradr,  is  the  strange  story 
you  speak  about*" 

"  jIA,  >,;fli,  that  does  one  good,"  as  he  returned  the  brandy  flask,  which 
was  now  nearly  empty  :  "  why.  Monsieur,  you  see,  as  my  family  have  from 
generation  to  generation  been  in  the  service  of  the  Barons  de  Boiscourt,  [ 
seldom  open  my  \\^  about  these  things,  not  that  I  think  there  is  much  harm 
in  the  story  as  it  goes,  but  people  don't  all  think  alike,  and  one  does  not  care 
to  have  remarks  made." 

"Well,  but  surely— " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,  I  know  what  you  would  say — you  think  that  I  might 
make  an  exception  in  your  favor.  Well,  camaradc,  1  think  so  too,  fgr  you 
are  an  honest  fellow.  Hut,  look  you,  several  people  have  tried  to  pump  me 
Oil  the  subject  before:  They  never  could  succeed,  for  I  always  pretend  to 
know  nothing  of  the  rumor  which,  they  say,  has  got  abroad  about  the  doings 
of  old  in  the  chateau." 

'•  You  do  know  them,  then.  Well,  my  friend,  since  I  have  had  the  good 
fortune  to  please  you,  do  gratify  me  so  far  as  to  relate  the  circumstances." 

"  Diantre,  it  i»  too  long  a  story  for  me  to  tell,  but  if  you  give  me  your 
word— ^«i  de  gentilhomme — that  you  will  never  speak  of  it  while  there  is 
one  of  the  family  of  de  Boiscourt  living,  I  will  put  you  in  possession  of  some 
papers  which  I  found  secreted  in  a  small  tin  case,  inserted  in  the  right  leg 
of  the  figure  of  the  Baron." 

"  Found  secreted  in  his  leg  ! — How  came  it  there'" 

"  Placed  tliere,  pardieu,  I  suppose,  by  himself,  aa  the  present  young 
Baron,  who,  entre  nous,  is  a  great  rou^,  and  prefers  Paris  to  living  here  on 
his  rentes,  declares.  I  found  it,  it  is  now  nearly  five  years,  while  dusting 
and  cleaning  the  figures,  and  gave  it  to  him.     He  eagerly  opened  the  case, 


;.,  V 


■■■^^, 


Mi,w*iCri^HW«ft«Mifa.« 


THE   MONK    KNfOHT    Of   ST.    JOHN. 


thinking  that  it  might  contain  money  or  jewels  ;  but  nothing  l)ul  written 
papflrs,  which  ttie  excluaion  of  the  air  iiad  preserved,  were  to  be  seen." 

"  Bah,  Picard,"  he  said  pettishly,  at\<>r  reading  a  few  linos,  "  those  ;ire 
nothing  but  fusty  old  i)archmenta — old  as  the  time  of  the  Crusade  itself.  It 
is  a  sort  nf  history,  I  believe,  of  these  wooden  imager.  Here,  put  them 
back  into  ihe  case,  and  uke  care  of  them.  If  I  have  nothing  else  to  amuse 
me,  when  next  I  visit  this  old  rat-trap  of  a  chateau,  I  will  look  over  them." 

"  And  they  are  there  now?"  I  said  eagerly. 

"Where  else  should  they  be?"  was  the  reply  of  the  garde  chaise-  If 
Monsieur  will  assist  me  in  turning  down  this  heavy  tripod,  I  will  soon  pro- 
duce them." 

The  weight  of  three  full  length  figures  in  ebony  was  by  no  means  trifling ; 
however,  with  some  effort,  having  in  view,  as  we  had,  the  avoidance  of  all 
injury  to  the  figures,  we  turned  them  sideways  on  a  blanket  which  Picard 
placed  on  the  brick  floor.  A  large  cork  was  removed  from  the  foot  he  had 
indicated,  and  the  tin  case  drawn  fbrth.  The  figures  were  suffered  to  remain 
in  their  recumbent  position,  the  garde  chasse  deeming  it  unnecessary  to 
restore  them  to  their  proper  position  until  the  following  morning,  by  which 
time  I  said  I  should  have  concluded  my  examination  of  the  manuscript . 

"u4A,  fa,  camarade,  you  are  all  right  now,  but  recollect, /ot  de  gentilhomtne, 
no  babbling  the  secrets  of  the  family,  while  one  of  them  lives.  Votre  tman 
la  dessus." 

I  took  his  hand  in  aifirmation  of  the  pledge.  "  Depend  upon  it,"  1  said, 
'*  I  will  keep  my  promise  to  the  letter.  While  a  Baron  de  Boiscourt  livee, 
the  knowledge  of  what  those  papers  contain  shall  never  escape  me." 

*'  Dame!  I  know  well  that  you  are  a  man  of  honor;  but,"  he  continued, 
"  I  must  trim  your  lamp  with  a  little  more  oil.  It  bums  dimly,  and 
wants  renewing.  I  must  leave  you  in  the  dark,  while  I  go  down  for  a 
aupply." 

Burning  with  curiosity  to  open  the  case  and  read  its  contents,  and  yet 
dreading  that  I  never  should  make  out  the  quaint  old  French  of  that  day,  I 
awaited  with  some  impatience  the  re-appearance  of  the  garde  chasse,  who 
at  length  came  m,  not  only  with  the  lamp  newly  trimmed,  but  with  a  supply 
of  oil,  in  case  I  should  require  it  before  I  had  completed  the  deciphering  of 
the  parchment. 

Having  properly  disposed  the  lamp  near  the  head  of  the  bed,  and  lighted 
another  which  he  had  had  the  precaution  to  bring  with  him,  Picard  shook 
me  by  the  hand  with  a  "  Good  night,  sir  hunter  ;"  and  withdrew. 

heh  to  myself,  I  was  not  long  in  undressing,  for  my  eagerness  to  open  the 
manuscript  was  great.  I  removed  the  lid  of  the  box — examined  a  few  pages, 
and  found  to  my  great  joy  that  there  was  no  difficulty  in  making  them  out, 
although  there  was  an  idiom  which  makes  me  prefer  rendering  it  in  my  own 
language,  retaining  the  original  only  in  the  few  letters  that  are  introduced. 

As  I  stepped  impatiently  into  bed,  the  old  timbers  groaned  until  I  thought 
the  whole  would  come  to  pieces.  Happily  they  did  not,  for  I  would  not  for 
worlds  have  been  instrumental  in  destroying  that  relic  of  departed  loveliness 
•—the  resting-place  which,  centuries  before,  had  received  the  beautiful  limbs 


'tr 


..3«<' 


!»''' 


■    /:        • 


V" 


^ 


f 

1 


8 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


of  the  woman,  whose  faultless  image  was,  even  then,  lying  in    shadow    a 
few  paces  beyond  me. 

The  first  words  I  read  on  the  first  scroll  of  parchment  were  these  :  "  Who- 
ever may  condemn,  while  reading  these  pages,  knows  not  his  own  heart.  Man 
is  the  creature  of  circumstances.  What  I  have  done  I  repent  not  of  Be 
wise  also,  and  make  not  evil  where  none  exists."  Then  came  the  story, 
which  is  vividly  impressed  upon  my  memory,  and,  in  substance,  was  as 
follows : — 


CHAPTER   II. 


'  .-I 


-&; 


During  the  reign  of  chivalry  in  Palestine,  it  was  no  uncommon  circum- 
stance for  the  warmest  attachments  to  be  formed  among  the  knights  and 
warriors  engaged  in  that  sanguinary  struggle.  Many  a  Pylades  had  his 
Orestes.  Many  a  Damon  his  Pythias.  They  fought  side  by  side — ate  to- 
gether— slept  in  the  same  tent,  and,  in  the  hour  of  danger,  were  ever  ready 
<o  lend  the  hand  of  succour,  either  personally  or  through  the  forces  they  led 
to  battle.  Community  of  interest  and  of  position  induced  community  of 
thought  and  of  purpose.  The  inmost  secrets  of  their  hearts  were  laid  bare ; 
each  delighted  not  less  in  the  confidence  reposed  by  himself  in  his  brother  in 
arms,  than  in  that  which  was  paid  back  to  him  in  kind,  and  the  more  sacred 
the  character  of  the  disclosures  which  the  glowing  heart  dictated,  the  more 
deeply  riveted  became  the  links  of  the  chain  which  bound  them  in  indisso- 
luble friendship.  The  cold  and  soul-annihilating  conventionalisms  of  modem 
life  were  then  unknown.  Selfishness  had  not  attained  that  refinement  which 
progressive  civilization  has  nurtured. 

It  was  on  the  evening  of  a  day  which  had  been  passed  in  conflict  with  the 
Saracens,  and  not  six  months  before  the  recapture  of  Jerusalem,  that  two 
knights,  who  had  doffed  their  harness,  entered  a  very  handsome  tent,  part 
of  the  encampment  without  its  walls.  He  who  evidently  was  the  youngest 
was  Alfred,  the  Baron  de  Boiscourt.  He  was  elegantly  dressed  ;  his  doublet 
being  of  crimson  velvet,  embroidered  with  gold,  and  on  his  breast  he  wore  the 
cross  of  his  order,  while  a  graceful  plume  floated  from  the  hat  which  adorned 
his  brow.  His  features  were  animated  and  handsome,  and  from  his  deep 
blue,  dark-lashed  eye,  there  beamed  the  fires  of  a  soul  which  not  even  his 
frank  open  countenance  could  belie.  His  hair,  which  fell  in  rich  profusion 
of  ringleta  over  his  fine  shoulders,  was  of  a  dark  chesnut,  approaching  to  an 
auburn,  and  through  the  small  and  expressive  mouth,  as  he  smiled  some  re- 
mark to  his  companion,  came  sounds  sweet  but  powerful,  which  seemed  to 
have  been  given  to  him  by  nature  to  warm  the  heart  of  her  who  should  be 
exposed  to  their  influence.  His  teeth,  not  too  large,  were  dazzlingly  white, 
and  his  lips  and  chin  were  models  of  their  kind.  His  height  might  hare 
been  about  six  feet,  but  the  grace  and  elegance  of  his  carriage  were  such 
that,  finely  proportioned  as  it  was,  his  figure  might  have  been  taken  for  some- 
thing less. 


THE   MONK    KNIGHT    ON    ST.    JOHN. 


9 


His  companion  was  of  a  different  mould.  He  was  of  almost  Herculean 
proportion,  and  in  the  plain  black  monkish  robe,  furnished  with  its  eight- 
pointed  white  cross,  which  he  wore  as  was  his  wont,  when  not  in  the  armor 
of  his  order,  seemed  even  taller  and  larger.  A  low  skull-cap  covered  his 
head,  with'  ut  however  impeding  the  flow  of  the  masses  of  dark  hair,  slightly 
sprinkled  with  gray,  which  fell  over  shoulders  even  more  ample  than  those 
of  the  younger  Knight ;  coarse  sandals  were  upon  his  feet,  and  from  his  full 
chest  depended  a  large  crucifix  of  ebony,  to  which  was  attached  a  chain  of 
solid  gold.  A  coarse  mantle  of  black  was  thrown  across  his  shoulders,  and 
on  the  left  breast  of  this  was  the  unsullied  cross  which  denoted  him  to  be  a 
Knight  of  the  Holy  Order  of  St.  John. 

The  face  of  this  warrior  Monk  was  noble  in  the  extreme.  It  wore  an 
expression  of  calm  and  quiet  dignity,  which  even  the  fierce  tumult  of  recent 
battle  had  not  in  the  slightest  degree  rufiled — an  air  of  benevolence,  which  it 
was  impossible  to  contemplate  without  being  impressed  with  the  most  favor- 
able feelings  towards  their  possessor.  His  forehead  was  high,  intellectual, 
full  of  thought ;  and  the  remainder  of  his  features  were  fashioned  in  a  spirit 
of  strict  harmony  with  the  general  character  of  his  most  winning  counte- 
nance. His  eyes  were  large  and  dark,  and  although  their  habitual  expression 
was  that  of  softness,  corresponding  with  his  other  features,  they  would 
occasionally  kindle  with  a  fire  that  proved  the  soul  within  to  be  as  capable 
of  animation  as  that  of  him  who  had  been  the  least  tutored  to  command  his 
passion.  His  hair  was,  as  has  just  been  said,  extremely  thick,  and  fell  over 
his  shoulders  in  large  masses,  adding,  as  it  were,  to  the  majesty,  and  dignity, 
and  vigor  of  his  striking  personal  appearance.  His  frame  was  firmly  knit 
together,  his  chest,  like  that  of  a  Hercules,  and  his  muscles  were  like  cords 
of  iron. 

'•  Beshrew  me,  Abdallah,"  said  the  Baron  de  Boiscouit,  as,  having  en- 
tered the  spacious  tent,  they  now  sat  down  to  refresh  themselves  with  a  flask 
of  Cyprus  wine,  which  the  latter  had  desired  his  page,  Rudolph — a  beautiful 
and  blooming  boy,  fair  as  the  Narcissus  of  old — to  place  before  them; 
"  Beshrew  me,  I  say,  but  my  soul  yearns  to  you,  as  though  you  were  the 
first-born  of  my  mother's  womb.  This  is  the  fourth  time  you  have  saved 
my  life  from  those  Saracen  dog<i.  But  for  you  to-day  that  infidel  would  have 
carried  off  my  head,  instead  of  pricking  my  shoulder.  In  fact,  I  had  given 
myself  up  for  lost,  hemmed  in  as  I  was  by  at  least  a  score,  and  my  last 
thoughts  were,  I  confess,  less  of  Heaven  than  of  my  adored  Emestina,  and 
of  you,  my  friend,  my  noble  Abdallah." 

"Of  me?"  said  the  Monk,  with  surprise — "that  indeed  was  kind, 
generous  de  Boiscourt ;  and  deep  and  truthful  indeed  must  be  your  regard 
for  me,  when,  in  your  supposed  dying  hour,  you  could  suffer  my  image 
to  mix  with  that  of  such  a  one  as  you  have  described  the  Lady  Emestina 
to  be." 

"  I  thought  of  you  both,"  pursued  the  handsome  and  the  enthusiastic 
Baron,  ''  as  being  the  dearest  to  my  heart,  and  I  determined  in  my  soul  that 
nothing  should  content  me  until  I  obtained  your  promise,  in  the  event 
of  my  fall  before  this  war  is  over,  to  abjure  your  monastic  vows,  and  make 
the  sweet  wife  of  my  bosom  your  own." 


i 


10 


THE    MO.HK    KN,.>HT    OF    ST.    .!0H\. 


I 


The  pulsss  of  the  Monk  swelled  visibly,  his  jwlc  and  noble  face  l>ecame 
for  a  moment  suffuaed  with  ii  deep  flush,  but  quickly  recovering  his  self- 
possession,  he  said,  with  his  wonted  calmness: 

"  Believe  ine,  do  Boiscourt,  this  could  never  be.  Firstly,  1  could  never 
prove  false  to  ray  vows  of  chastity,  even  at  such  a  price;  for  think  you," 
he  added  with  sudden  energy,  while  his  eyes  were  lighted  up  with  an  un 
wonted  fire,  "  that  I  have  listened  unmoved  to  the  tale  of  her  superhuman 
loveliness,  as  told  by  yourself?  No,  my  friend — no,  ray  generous,  noble  de 
Boiscourt,  tempt  me  not.  1  am  a  priest,  it  is  true,  yet  am  I  but  a  man. 
Even  to  see  her  now  would  be  to  seal  the  downfall  of  my  honor;  but 
wherefore,"  he  resumed,  after  a  pause,  '*  do  I  talk  thus;  I  have,  as  you  say, 
•aved  your  life,  my  friend,  for  the  fourth  time.  You  were  surrounded  by 
Qumbers,  and  notwithstanding  all  your  valor — notwithstanding  that  your 
good  battle-axe  had  hewn  down  seven  of  your  assailants,  you  must  indeed 
have  perished  against  such  fearful  odds,  had  not  fortune — fortune  do  1  term 
it? — had  not  instinct — friendship — the  desire  to  preserve  to  her  chaste  love 
llie  lord  of  your  noble  lady,  whose  image,  de  Boiscourt,  you  have  painted 
as  a  thing  of  light  and  life,  led  me  to  your  rescue." 

'•  Proceed,"  said  the  gay  and  reckless  Knight,  pleased  with  the  avowal 
that  the  heart,  hitherto  so  insensible  to  the  fascinations  of  women,  should  thus 
have  been  reached  through  the  imagination,  by  the  idol  of  his  own  soul. 
"  You  do  not  then  include  my  Ernestina  in  that  almost  detestation  with 
which  you  regard  women  in  general?" 

"  Dear  de  Boiscourt,"  answered  the  Monk  solemnly,  as  he  raised  his  tall 
figure  to  its  full  height,  "  you  know  that  I  do  not;  I  have  just  now  told  you 
that  1  do  not.  But  tempt  me  not  further,  I  entreat  you.  Do  not  bring 
images  before  my  eyes,  which  I  dare  not — ought  not  to  think  of.  Let  me 
regard  the  Lady  Ernestina  as  a  daughter  of  grace  and  charity — as  a 
Madonna  of  the  church,  rather  than  as  a  mere  daughter  of  earth." 

"  How  charmingly  she  would  look  in  the  coarse  garb  of  a  Sister  of 
Charity,"  pursued  de  Boiscourt,  "  only  fancy  her  as  such  in  a  cloister, 
Abdallah.  Her  graceful  carriage — her  noble  and  voluptuous  figure — masses 
of  hair  of  the  darkest  brown,  through  which  the  eager  comb  can  scarcely 
find  its  way,  falling  over  shoulders  of  polished  alabaster,  and  terminating 
only  mid-leg ;  eyes  of  the  deepest,  softest  |)lue,  surmounted  by  marked  brows 
of  ilie  same  dark  shade,  and  long  eye-lashes  which  mock  the  glossiness  of 
the  raven's  wing.  A  Grecian  nose,  most  delicately  formed— lips  of  coral 
that  have  stolen  all  their  fragrance  from  the  honeysuckle  and  the  rose — 
teeth  polished  and  dazzling  as  the  ivory — two  sweet  dimples  on  her  downy 
choek.  which  ever  show  themselves  when  those  coral  lips  divide  to  blazon 
forth  the  gems  wiihin — these,  with  a  moulded  arm,  and  hand,  and  foot  — " 

"  De  Boiscouri — dear  de  Boiscourt,"  interrupted  the  Monk,  trembling,  and 
with  the  paleness  of  agony  depicted  on  his  countenance^"  is  this  your 
friendship  for  mo  '" 

•'  Fancy  all  thnse,"  continued  the  Baron,  with  a  certain  degree  of  fierce- 
ness, as  he  felt  his  blood  to  glow  at  the  recollection  of  hut  wife's  beauty,  and 
presemg,  at  the  same  time,  heavily  on  the  shoulder  of  the  monk — "  &ncy 


^ 


THK    MONK    KNir.HT    Ob    ST.    JOHN. 


11 


these — fancy  a  bosom  moulded  by  the  hand  of  love,  on  which  a  divinity  might 
well  desire  to  repose  his  head." 

Tiie  breast  of  Abdallah  heaved — liis  brow  was  knitted — his  features  were 
fixed  in  an  expression  almost  of  despair. 

"  Think  of  these — fancy  all  her  host  of  charms  concealed  beneath  the  sanc- 
tified dress  and  air  of  a  Sister  of  (Charity,  and  inhabiting  the  same  cloister 
with  yourself." 

"  What  then !"  said  Abdallah,  with  an  effort  at  composure  :  "  the  cloister 
well  merits  the  self-sacrifice  of  earth's  fairest  daughters  at  the  monastic 
shrine." 

"  Tell  me  then,"  he  asked,  seriously,  '-since  you  will  not  break  that  fool- 
ish vow  by  espousing  Ernestina  in  the  event  of  my  fall,  promise  me,  at  least, 
that  you  will  clothe  her  in  some  such  garb,  and  place  her  in  a  cloister  near 
your  own." 

*'  Should  she  desire  it,  certainly,"  replied  the  monk ;  "  but  what  reason 
is  there  to  think  that  such  will  be  her  determination." 

"  Because,  should  I  fall — and  I  have  a  vague  presentiment  that  I  shall — I 
am  satisfied  Ernestina  will  be  nowhere  so  happy  as  near  yourself." 
"  Near  me  !"  and  the  Monk  started. 

"  Even  80,  Abdallah  ;  you  shall  hear  what  she  writes.  The  courier  who 
arrived  yesterday  in  the  camp  from  France,  brought  me  this  letter  from  Au- 
vergne."  So  saying,  he  took  from  a  small  trunk  ihat  lay  in  the  corner  of 
the  tent,  a  long  scroll  of  parchment,  which,  after  having  removed  the  string, 
he  read  to  the  Monk,  dwelling  especially  on  those  passages  which  related 
immediately  to  himself. — Thus  the  Lady  Epestina  wrote  : 

"  But  though  I  pine  and  languish  for  my  lord's  return,  as  one  whose  lips 
have  simply  tasted  of  the  cup  of  bliss,  whjch  has  now,  for  three  long  years 
been  absent  from  my  touch,  it  is  my  great  delight  to  think  of  my  lord  and  of 
his  noble  friend,  the  warrior  Monk,  Abdallah.  Indeed,  my  lord,  you  must 
not  be  jealous,  but  it  is  not  so  certain  to  me  of  which  I  think  the  most — you, 
whose  dear  life  has  been  so  often  saved  by  him — three  times,  I  think,  you 
write — or  him  who  has  been  the  means  of  preserving  you  to  my  earnest  love 
and  tenderness.  Right  glad  am  I  that  you  are  bosom  friends ;  but  my  lord 
should  not,  as  he  says  he  does,  so  often  speak  my  charms  upon  his  holy  ear, 
nor  his  great  manliness  on  mine.  '  You  say  he  is  brave,  and  learned,  and  of 
such  majesty  of  mien  as  well  may  rank  him  with  the  kings  of  men — of  much 
mildness,  benevolence,  sobriety,  chastity  :  the  latter  virtue  doth  become 
him  greatly  ;  therefore,  dear  lord,  do  not,  I  pray,  bring  strong  disorder  to  his 
soul  by  such  relation  of  my  charms  as  may  make  him  hate  me  for  bringing 
down  his  thoughts  from  God.  besides,  my  lord,  you  make  me  too  much 
think  of  him,  and  deem  it  pity  that  one  so  noble,  of  such  esteem  in  all  his 
manliness,  should  ever  wear  the  monkish  cowl.  To  you  I  frankly  speak  my 
thoughts,  for  such  sweet  confidence  has  been  our  golden  bond  of  love,  that  I 
were  indeed  most  guilty,  were  the  heart  that  beats  only  for  its  lord  alone,  to 
hide  one  feeling  from  him.  Thus,  then,  I  must  confess,  these  high  descrip- 
tions of  your  friend  Abdallah  have  made  me  so  much  think  of  him — so  raised 
him  in  my  lore — that  love  which  doth  become  a  wife  to  feel  for  him  who 
thrice  has  saved  her  husband's  life." — 


\\ 


i 
! 


12 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


"What  will  she  write  when  she  learns  that  you  have,  for  the  fourth  time, . 
done  me  that  good  office,"  said  the  Baron,  interrupting  himself. 

"  That,"  continued  he,  reading,  "  were  he,  in  the  event  of  my  dear  lordu 
falling  on  the  fields  of  Palestine,  to  throw  away  the  cowl  and  seek  in  these 
arms  the  sweet  remembrance  of  his  friend,  and  full  reward  for  all  his  length- 
ened years  of  continence,  most  gladly  and  at  fitting  moment,  would  I  meet 
my  lord's  desire.  But  this  will  never  be.  First,  because  Abdallah's  giant 
arm  will  never  shield  my  dear  lord's  life  ;  and  next,  because  his  love  for  God 
is  such,  that  Ernestina's  charms,  if  ten  times  richer  than  my  lord  is  pleased 
to  paint  them,  were  far  too  weak  to  wean  him  thence." 

"  Heavens,  de  Boiscourt!"  exclaimed  the  Monk,  grinding  his  teeth,  and 
exhibiting  other  evidences  of  strong  excitement,  "  would  you  destroy  my 
peace  of  mind  everlastingly  ?     Alas  !  that  letter  has  done  it.'* 

"  Thus,  she  continues,  pursued  the  Knight,  who  took  a  deep  but  not  un- 
friendly delight  in  the  confusion  of  his  friend,  whom  he  loved  with  the  most 
unbounded  tenderness — "  In  such,  is  it  prudent  in  my  lord  to  assail  his  high 
virtue  by  placing  before  his  imagination,  each  separate  beauty  of  a  woman, 
whom  the  stern  monastic  vow  forbids  his  ever  knowing  as  a  wife,  or  is  it 
more  prudent  that  my  lord  sho  Id,  by  such  descriptions  as  he  gives  of  the 
majesty,  courage,  and  bearing  ..f  his  noble  friend,  inspire  in  the  bosom  of  his 
wife,  thoughts  and  images  of  the  future  which  never  can  be  realized?  I 
write  these  things  in  humble  deference  to  my  lord's  opinion  ;  but  if  it  be  his 
will  and  plsasure,  as  he  says  it  is,  to  keep  the  glowing  picture  of  those 
charms  ever  before  the  memory  ofhimwhomhe  wishes  to  succeed  him  in 
the  nuptial  rite,  let  him  also  say,  that  she  who  is  thus  described,  loves  Ab- 
dallah  with  a  love  only  less  than  that  she  bears  her  wedded  lord,  and  blesses 
him  in  nightly  prayer,  when  in  the  solitude  of  stillness  her  thoughts  but  lire 
in  Palestine,  even  as  a  holy  monk,  superior  to  the  frailties  of  humanity,  and 
as  an  unconquerable  warrior,  who  has  saved  to  her  ardent  love  the  dear 
lord  of  her  loving  soul,  whom  to  press  once  more  within  her  circling  arms 
she  languishes  and  dies." 

The  Monk's  lip  quivered— his  face  was  ashy  pale— and  there  was  evidently 
a  deep  struggle  at  his  heart. 

"  De  Boiscourt,"  he  said  solemnly,  rising  from  his  seat,  "  this  is  enough. 
I  am  undone  ;  for,  by  the  holy  One  above  I  swear,"  and  he  raised  his  arm  on 
high,  while  his  whole  person  dilated  itself  to  the  utmost,  "  that  come  what 
will,  your  wife  shall  be  my  wife." 


It 


(      !, 


* 


•t^-,, 


THE   MONK   KNIGHT   OF   ST.   JOHN. 


13 


CHAPTER   III 


Originally  of  Moorish  origin,  and  abducted  in  infancy  by  the  Maltese, 
Abdallah,  or  the  Monk  Knight,  as  he  was  ever  called  in  Palestine,  had  been 
coiTipelied,  by  his  Christian  captors,  to  abandon  his  religion  and  adopt  the 
cowl.  For  more  than  thirty  years  he  had  exercised  all  the  austerities  of 
the  monastic  life,  and  this  had  given  to  his  countenance  that  benignity  of 
expression  which  has  been  remarked,  and  which  had  grown  out  of  the  care- 
ful tutoring  of  his  passions.  About  that  period,  however,  Jerusalem  having 
been  tiireatened  by  Saladin,  Abdallah,  who,  although  suflered  to  retain 
his  name,  had  become  as  fervent  a  worshipper  of  Christ  as  he  had  once 
been  of  Mahomet,  feeling  within  him  a  sort  of  divine  inspiration  to  follow 
that  course  in  which  his  services  might  be  more  actively  employed  in  defence 
of  the  true  faith,  entreated  and  obtained  permission  to -forsake  the  scene  of 
his  seclusion,  and  attach  himself  to  the  Knights  of  St.  John,  the  strictest  of 
the  religious  orders  then  embarked  in  that  contest. 

Here,  while  he  distinguished  himself  by  the  prowess  of  his  arm.  ren- 
dering himself  remarkable  as  one  of  the  most  formidable  combatants  who 
used  the  battle-axe  and  the  scimetar,  he  practised  all  those  austerities  in 
which  he  had  been  brought  up,  and  particularly  and  scrupulously  adhered  to 
that  vow  of  chastity  which  he  had  pronounced  on  passing  the  threshold  of 
the  Church.  This,  considering  the  laxity  of  morals  of  the  age — the  temp- 
tations offered — tlie  opportunity  continually  presented,  was  no  slight  mani- 
festation of  the  strength  of  will  which  had  thus  subjected  the  flesh  of  the 
man  to  a  penance  that  could  have  been  little  less  than  torture  ;  for  often 
amid  that  fierce  struggle  had  he  seen  the  Saracen  wife — the  Saracen  maiden 
violated  before  his  eyes,  or,  yielding  herself  up  a  trembling  victim  to  her 
conqueror — all  her  rich  beauties  exposed  to  the  gaze  of  a  licentious  soldiery 
— appearing  to  share  with  him  the  raptures  he  compelled. 

It  was  on  an  occasion  of  this  kind,  that,  after  a  trial  of  his  virtue,  under 
which  one  of  less  strength  of  mind,  less  confirmed  in  principle,  had  surely 
fallen,  that  he  first  became  acquainted  with  the  Baron  de  Boiscourt — an 
ac(i  ;aintance  that  rapidly  ripening  into  friendship,  had  now  bound  their 
hearts  together  in  the  closest  ties  of  confidence,  and  led,  as  we  have  seen,  to 
the  wild  desire  entertained  by  the  latter,  that  Abdallah  should,  after  his 
death,  espouse  his  wife.  Often  had  he  pictured  to  himself  the  overwhelming 
ardor  with  which,  when  pillowed  on  his  Ernestina's  bosom,  the  Monk  would 
exhale  his  soul,  while  she,  already  disposed  to  receive  him  as  her  husband, 
when  her  first  lord  should  be  no  more,  would  respond  to  the  more  than 
human  joy,  with  that  voluptuousness  of  abandonment  which  was  so  natural 
to  her,  and  in  a  spirit  of  deep  gratitude,  and  endearing  love  for  him  who  had 
thus  been  careful  to  send  her  such  a  successor  to  the  nuptial  bed. 

Returning  from  a  successful  foray  near  Jerusalem,  one  evening  about  sunset, 
the  Monk  Knight  of  St.  John,  fatigued  with  the  exertions  of  the  day — for  he 
had  with  his  own  good  right  arm  slaughtered  many  a  Saracen — had  given 


'  (. 


14 


THE   MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


'I 


I 


the  rein  to  his  noble  war-horee,  and  was  pursuing  his  way  leisurely  to  the 
camp,  when  his  ear  was  suddenly  arrested  by  the  screams  of  women  and 
the  clattering  of  arms.  Turning  his  steed  in  the  direction  of  the  sound,  he 
entered  a  small  forest  of  sycamores,  and  had  not  penetrated  more  than 
twenty  yards,  when  he  beheld  a  sight  that  almost  petrified,  and  for  a 
moment  rendered  him  undecided  whether  to  advance  or  to  retire.  Within 
a  belt,  formed  by  the  sycamore  also,  was  a  large  open  space  of  about  thirty 
feet  in  diameter,  covered  with  a  carpet  of  grass,  which,  shaded  from  the 
sun's  beams,  had  preserved  all  its  original  freshness,  and  was,  withal,  so 
thick  and  velvety,  that  even  the  tread  of  several  heavy-footed  combatants, 
engaged  in  deadly  strife,  could  not  be  heard.  At  the  edge  of  this  open 
space  lay,  with  disheveled  hair,  clothes  nearly  torn  from  their  backs,  limbs 
unconsciously  exposed,  and  uttering  sobs  that  proved  the  violence  of  the 
unholy  lust  of  those  who  had  placed  them  in  that  condition,  two  beautiful 
young  Saracen  women — for  maidens,  under  the  circumstances,  they  could 
scarcely  be  called.  But  the  eye  of  the  warrior  stayed  not  to  linger  on  these, 
but  was,  as  it  were,  irresistibly  led  to,  and  fascinated  by  the  principal  figure 
in  this  most  extraordinary  scene.  At  a  few  paces  from  the  group  just 
described,  and  bound,  standing  on  naked  feet,  to  one  of  the  sycamores  that 
formed  the  inner  belt,  even  as  Andromeda  to  her  rock,  was  a  third  woman, 
of  the  most  surpassing  loveliness,  whose  carriage  and  high  bearing  were 
manifestly  those  of  a  woman  of  superior  rank.  Not  a  vestige  of  a  garment 
was  upon  her,  and  the  efforts  she  had  made  to  conceal  the  shame  with  which 
she  was  oppressed  by  the  cruel  exposure  of  her  divine  beauty,  were  such  as 
iu  show  that  the  pang  she  endured  at  this  violation  of  her  modesty,  could  not 
have  been  exceeded  by  anything  resulting  from  personal  outrage.  By 
loosening  the  cords  which  bound  her  arms,  she  had  managed  to  throw  her 
jewelled  turban  to  the  ground,  and  thus  by  untying  the  knot  which  confined 
her  dark  hair,  to  part  and  bring  down  its  magnificent  volume,  over  shoulders 
that  had  been  formed  by  the  god  of  voluptuousness  himself.  Her  whole 
figure,  in  short,  was  of  exquisite  proportion,  and  without  giving  himself 
time  to  analyse  features  which  it  was  easy  to  perceive  were  beautiful,  the 
monk  felt  his  heart  to  swell  with  strange  and  undefinable  emotions,  as  his 
eye,  fascinated  and  involuntarily  riveted  by  the  sight,  feasted  almost  un- 
consciously on  the  voluptuous  contour  of  the  matchless  form  these  rude 
ravishers  had  evidently  brought  there  as  their  common  prey. 

Angry  with  himself  for  thus  gazing — unreasonably  indignant  at  the  beau- 
tiful Saracen  for  thus  carrying  a  strange  and  unaccountable  trouble  to  his 
senses,  Abdallah  turned  furiously  upon  the  combatants.  They  were  six  in 
number,  equally  opposed,  and  consisted  all  of  inferior  men-at-arms.  Blows 
rained  heavily  upon  their  gambesons,  but  as  yet  no  injury  had  been  done, 
,vhen,  like  an  avalanche,  the  steed  of  Abdallah,  furiously  spurred  by  his  rider, 
came  tumbling  over  them,  upsetting  three  to  the  ground. 

"  Villains!"  he  thundered,  "  what  do  you  herel  what  means  this  ravish- 
ment, this  most  unchristian  and  sacrilegious  tumult?" 

"  Nay,  Sir  Knight,"  answered  one  of  the  uninjured  men  who  appeared  to 
be  the  leader  of  the  party,  '•  we  took  these  women  in  the  foray.  These  two, 
pointing  to  their  victims,  we  have  shared  amongst  us,  and  as  there  is  some 


4^- 


'§\ 


I  i 


v.: 


iMM 


I 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    sT.    JOHN. 


15 


difficulty  in  the  m:itt*T  of  precedence  with  the  other,  we  were  even  now  de-  • 
ciding  by  battle  who  first  should  possess  so  sweet  a  creature.   There  was  not 
much  difficulty  in  the  beginning,  but  wc  had  no  sooner  undrest  and  bound 
her  as  you  see,  when  the  devil  seemed  to  take  possession  of  the  whole  of  us, 
and  we  came  at  once  to  loggerheads." 

"  Unheard-of  infamy — six  of  yo\)  burning  with  accursed  lust  for  one  help- 
less woman.  Shame,  shame  u[Kiii  you  !  You  bring  disgrace  upon  the  very 
name  of  Crusader.  Ah  !  how  can  our  holy  cause  expect  to  prosper  when 
men — fiends  like  these  are  the  instruments  upon  which  we  depend  for  its  ac- 
complishment? Unbind  that  lady,  miscreant — unbind  her  quickly — restore 
her  garments — robe  all  these  women,  and  see  that  you  conduct  them  safely 
to  the  first  Saracen  outpost.  But,  mark  me :  if  I  but  hear  that  you  have 
failed  to  obey  my  order,  or  commit  aught  of  violence  more,  then,  by  St.  John, 
you  shall  die.     Whom  serve  ye  ?'' 

"  The  noble  Baron  de  Boiscourt,'*  was  the  sullen  reply. 

"  Then  take  heed  of  it,"  cautioned  the  knight  as,  not  venturing  to  turn 
his  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the  bound  Saracen  women,  he  wheeled  round  his 
horse,  and  galloped  from  the  scene  of  meditated  murder  and  partially  accom- 
plished lust.  He  had  not,  however,  ridden  a  hundred  yards  beyond  the  inner 
belief  sycamores,  when  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that,  freed  from  the  re- 
straint of  his  presence,  the  villains  might,  in  the  certainty  of  his  ignorance 
of  the  ultimate  fate  of  the  women,  carry  out  their  original  diabolical  design. 
Thoroughly  impressed,  as  he  now  became  with  this  idea,  he  walked  his  steed 
c^iutiously  back,  and  had  again  nearly  reached  the  area  he  had  so  recently 
quitted,  when  a  succession  of  shrieks  met  his  ear  so  piercing,  and  yet  so  full 
of  melancholy,  that  his  whole  frame  thrilled  with  indignant  emotion.  He 
dashed  forward  anticipating  the  worst,  and  soon  beheld  a  sight  that  stirred 
up  his  spirit  to  the  fiercest  anger. 

The  beautiful  Saracen  had  been  unbound,  but  was  totally  naked  as  before, 
f'lose  to  the  spot  where  she  had  stood  was  a  small  mound-like  acclivity 
covered  with  rich  soft  grass,  on  which  she  lay  extended  sobbing  violently, 
and  with  her  black  and  luxuriant  hair  floating  over  her  neck  and  bosom,  and 
held  down  by  her  delicate  hands.  Poor  was  the  defence.  Two  men  were 
even  then  in  the  act  of  forcing  back  her  arms,  while  two  others  held  down 
her  moulded  and  polishetl  feet.  The  man  to  whom  the  Monk  Knight  had 
addressed  himself,  had  doffed  his  gambeson,  and  the  deepest  conceutfation  of 
savage  and  unpitying  lust  gloated  in  the  flushed  cheeks  and  fiery  eyes  of  all 
the  others,  who,  like  himself,  had  thrown  away  their  skull-caps.  The  brute, 
with  long,  coarse  black  locks,  overshadowing  w  countenance,  in  which  sen- 
suality was  strongly  depicted,  iiad  recommenced  his  brutal  assault  upon  the 
now  utterly  defenceless  victim,  with  the  most  palpable  recklessness  of 
consequences,  and  regardless  of  her  reneweu  .-.cieanis  and  vain  eilbrts  to  re- 
lease iierself,  when  suddenly  a  sharp  smooth  sound  met  his  ear,  and  then  two 
heads  fell  under  his  very  eyes  to  the  ground,  saturating  not  only  liis  own 
hideous  face,  but  slightly  sprinkling  the  bosom  of  his  victim  with  their  blood. 

But  guilty  passion,  when  once  excited  to  its  utmost  pitch,  hrus  no  tear. 
'I'lie  ruffian  knew,  without  seeing  him,  that  the  knight  was  returned.  Ho 
was  sensible  that  tin    ghastly  heads   lying  before  him  had  been  sacrificed 


* 


I 


>^1 


1 1 


-« 


16 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF   sT.    JOHN. 


' 


4»y  liis  scimetar — that  his  own  turn  would  be  next — that  he  must  die.  Whj 
he  had  not  yet  been  slain  lie  could  not  tell,  but  if  he  could  only  fully  satisfy 
his  desire  before  he  died,  then  were  death  to  him  a  thing  of  no  moment. 
Fired  to  madness  by  her  charms,  he  redoubled  his  efforts — another  minute 
and  the  struggling  and  deeply  flushed  woman  was  lost,  when,  as  she  uttered 
a  last  scream,  calling  on  Heaven  for  assistance,  she  felt  his  loathsome 
weight  suddenly  removed,  heard  a  distant  crash,  blended  with  a  groan  of 
agony,  and  then  exhausted  with  her  emotions,  closed  her  eyes  languidly,  and 
lay  for  some  moments  as  if  dead. 

The  timely  succour  she  hid  received,  the  sounds  she  had  heard,  had 
l)een  in  truth  the  work  of  the  Monk  Knight.  For  a  few  minutes  after 
striking  off  the  heads  of  the  associates  of  the  ravisher,  he  had  gazed  on  the 
strange  scene  before  him  with  the  most  indescribable  emotions,  but  no  sooner 
had  the  last  agonizing  cry  of  the  Saracen  captive  reached  his  ear,  than 
recovering  his  self-possession,  Abdallah  seized  the  violater  by  his  garments 
with  one  hand,  and  the  back  of  his  bushy  hair  with  the  other,  then,  raising 
him  with  great  force  until  be  brought  him  to  a  level  with  his  own  chest,  he 
hurled  him  with  violence  against  ihe  trunk  of  a  large  sycamore  tree,  a  few 
])aces  from  him,  and  dashed  out  his  brains. 

What  a  scene  was  thus  presented !  On  either  side  of  the  insensible  and 
naked  Saracen,  lay  the  bleeding  heads  and  bodies  of  tho.se  whose  office  it  had 
been  to  prevent  successful  resistance  to  the  designs  of  their  leader.  A  little 
l)eyond  that  was  the  corpse  of  the  wretch  himself,  and  farther  on  in  the  back 
ground,  and  now  in  the  act  of  slowly  rising  and  resuming  their  garments, 
which  lay  near  them,  were  the  tv,o  young  girls,  whose  shrieks  of  agony  had 
tirst  drawn  the  attention  of  the  Mcmk  to  the  spot.  Never  had  his  blood 
circulated  more  quickly  in  his  veins.  Oppres.sed  with  a  sense  of  suftocation, 
he  unbuckled  his  helmet,  and  threw  it  upon  the  sward,  disclosing  in  ilie  act 
the  whole  of  his  manly,  noble  and  benevolent  features.  Then,  addressing  the 
girls  in  the  Moorish  language,  he  bade  them  gather  up  the  clothes  of  their 
mistress,  and  hasten  to  cover  her. 

The  sound  of  her  own  language  in  that  spot,  seemed  to  arouse  the 
Saracen  lady  from  her  stupor.  She  slowly  opened  her  eyes,  raised  herself 
upon  her  elbows,  and,  shuddering  at  the  sight  of  the  blood  which  every- 
where encompasssed  her,  gained  her  feet,  and  approaching  with  tottering 
steps  lh9  bewildered  and  pallid  Monk,  threw  herself  upon  his  harnessed 
chest,  and.  ns  far  as  lii^  great  height  would  permit,  clasped  her  beautiful 
arms  round  his  neck. 

Startled  by  the  act,  Abdallah  drew  suddenly  back.    "■  Woman,  leave  me," 
he  cried,  in  the  Moorish  tongue  ,  "  ^  have  saved  you  from  the  pollution  of 
the  body  ;  let  not  the  pollution  of  vhe  soul  be  my  reward.     Slaves,"  he  iui 
peratively  exclaimed  to  the  other  rtomen,  "  do  my  bidding.   Approach,  and 
clothe  your  mistress." 

The  attendants,  now  habited  in  the  light  costume  in  which  they  had  been 
dru^ired  at  early  morning  from  their  beds,  not  knowing  whether  they  should 
not  b ;  subjected  to  a  repetition  of  the  previous  outrage,  approached  trem- 
blinfrly  to  execute  his  will,  when,  bowing  herself  humbly,  and  with  an  air 
of  deep   dejection,   their  mistress   withdrew  a   fv?w   paces,   her  beautiful 


mm 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


IT 


of 


jeii 
uld 

air 
[ful 


countenance   expreiwing   deep  sorrow   and   mortification,   that   the   fervent 
offering  of  her  heart's  gratitude  should  thus  have  been  rejected. 

There  was  more  danger  to  the  virtue  of  the  Monk  in  this  retiring  and 
moileat  act.  than  if  .siie  had  overwhelmed  him  with  caresses.  IIw  heirt 
now  smote  him  for  his  seeming  cruelty  to  one  who  appeared  destined  to 
suffer.  His  interest,  at  each  moment,  became  more  and  more  awakened  in 
her  favor.  Insensibly  his  feelings  assumed  a  tumultuous  character.  Wild 
thoughts,  with  lightning  speed,  flashed  through  his  mind,  and  threatened  him 
with  mastery.  His  brain  was  dizzy  with  the  contemplation  of  the  glowing 
and  suppliant  beauty  belbre  iiim.  Kur  the  tirst  time  his  monastic  vows  wore 
forgotten.  He  saw  and  confessed  the  majesty  of  Uod  in  one  of  the  most 
perfect  of  His  creatures.  The  whole  of  the  strange  scene  which  had  so 
recently  occurred,  came  forcibly  again  to  his  memory ;  he  saw  but  the 
woman.  She  was  the  talisman  which  enchained  his  soul.  He  made  a  move- 
ment with  trembling  steps,  when,  suddenly,  the  image  of  the  devil,  grinning 
fiendishly  and  exultingly,  seemed  to  him  to  interpose  itself.  A  moment  ho 
paused,  but  the  temptation  was  beyond  his  sorely  tried  strength  to  resist; 
another  moment,  and  he  was  lust,  when,  suddenly,  the  sounds  of  a  hor.'^e's  hoofis 
near  at  hand  recalled  him  to  himself 


CHAPTER     IV. 

Turning  suddenly  to  behold  the  intruder,  Abdallah  saw  issuing  from  the 
body  of  the  wood  into  the  enclosure,  a  knight,  whose  costume,  and  the  particu- 
lar plume  he  wore  in  his  helmet,  proved  to  be  a  noble  of  France,  one,  more- 
over, whom  he  had,  though  a  personal  stranger  to  him,  frequently  remarked 
for  his  gallant  bearing  in  the  field,  as  well  as  for  the  enthusiaslic  ardor  with 
which  he  entered  on  every  enterprise  of  peril. 

"  Ha!"  exclaimed  the  new-comer,  as  he  dismounted,  and,  like  Abdallah, 
unbuckled  his  helmet,  and  dashed  it  on  the  soft  green  turf:  "  what  a 
charming  scene  of  love  and  murder  have  we  here ' — What '.  a  knight  of 
St.  John,  with  his  sword  nearly  stained  to  the  hilt  in  blood!  a  knight  of 
the  most  holy  order — the  most  strict  in  virtue  of  our  array,  and  alone, 
and  with  a  naked  and  beautiful  daughter  of  Mahomet,  after  having 
evidently  cut  the  throats  of  the.se  varlets.  Ha!  by  my  faith,  what  do  I 
behold  !  Hy  the  Holy  Virgin  bt.l  they  are  my  own  followers.  There  i.s 
that  libidinous  wretch  Thibaud,  with  the  little  brains  he  ever  possessed 
dashed  into  a  jelly ;  Sancerre,  Guillaume,  Benoit,  Prudhomme,  Fredain, 
their  heads  all  bodiless,  and  their  features  looking  little  less  horrible  in 
death,  than  they  did  in  life.  Pray,  Sir  Knight,"  and  he  looked  and  smiled 
courteously  as  he  spoke  ;  "  am  1  right  in  connecting  that  dripping  falchion 
with  those  headless  rascals  of  mine?  But,  before  I  question  further,  permit 
me  to  ask  if  that  very  charming  infidel,  whose  gract.s  of  person  a  good  deal 
remind  me  of  a  certain  fair  one  I  have  left  in  Auvergne,  is  your  especial 

2 


'"■y 


V4IJ 


18 


THK    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


;i»v 


^    .. 


'*  k"*  • 


i  . 


captive  ?    If  she  be,  then,  by  8t.  Paul,  but  those  sly  Knif^htii  of  8t.  John  are, 
albeit  their  vows  of  continence,  not  bud  jud^reH  of  tho  Hex.     Ha!" 

At  that  moment  the  subject  of  his  remark,  who  had  now  boon  partially 
dressed  by  her  women,  attracted  by  tho  soiiiid  of  a  now  voice,  lookc<]  up, 
and  with  so  tender  and  anxious  an  expression  of  nountoniuico,  thiit  tho  youii^ 
Knight,  suddenly  intorruptiuK  himsf^lf  llow  tu  her  side,  and  fullin)?  on  one 
knee,  Heized  and  imprinted  a  kiss  upon  her  small  and  delicately  formed 
hand.  So  soothing;  was  this  act  of  kindness  and  interest  to  tho  oppreshtyl 
soul  of  the  unhappy  woman,  that,  with  (rencrous  impulse,  sin;  threw  hersidf 
this  time  with  more  success  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  handsome  Knij^ht,  and 
shedding  tears  of  joy  and  gratitude,  suflored  his  arm  to  encircle  her,  until 
their  beating  hearts  seemed  to  grow  together ;  then,  when  the  paroxysm 
of  her  feeling  had  passed  away,  she  raist^d  her  head,  smiled  upon  him,  and 
amuse<l  herself  with  passing  her  fingers  through  the  rich  clusters  of  his 
wavy  hair.  It  was  strange  that  so  warm  a  feeling  should  have  been  so 
suddenly  induced,  yet  it  seemed  as  if  in  these  few  momenta  they  had  lived  a 
life  of  intimacy,  and  the  flushing  cheek,  and  flashing  eye,  and  beating  heart 
of  the  young  Knight  spoke  a  language  which  could  never  be  mistaken  by 
her.  Again  she  sank  her  head,  her  rich  dark  cheek  reposing  on  his  neck, 
and  her  raven  and  luxuriant  hair  sweeping  over  his  face  and  mingling  with 
his  own. 

"  Sir  Knight,"  said  the  Monk,  somewhat  sternly,  and  approaching  him, 
"  by  what  you  have  stated,  I  know  you  for  the  Baron  do  Boiscourt — a  noble 
name,  and  one  which  should  not  be  disgraced.  For  what  they  would  have 
oflfered  of  violence  to  this  lady  I  slew  those  villains,  but  not  to  pander  to  the 
appetite  of  their  master." 

The  interruption  was  not  ill-timed.  Carried  away  by  the  impetuosity  of 
their  newly-awakened  feelings,  the  Saracen  lady  and  the  Christian  knight 
had  forgotten  that  there  was  aught  beside  thennselvcs  within  that  seeming 
solitude. 

The  young  knight  rose  to  confront  the  intruder,  after  having  gently  depois- 
ited  his  fair  burden  upon  the  velvet  sward. 

"  Sir  Knight  of  St.  John,"  he  asked  somewhat  haughtily,  "  I  crave  to 
know  whether  this  lady  be  your  captive  ;  my  course  shall  fashion  itself  on 
your  reply." 

"  If  the  act  of  saving  that  lady  from  the  brutal  lust  of  the  men-at-arms  of 
the  Baron  de  Boiscourt,  can  give  such  right,  I  claim  it."  was  the  calm  re- 
joinder of  the  Monk."  And,  in  a  few  brief  words  he  explained  all  that  had 
occurred. 

"  My  hand  in  yours  upon  this  holy  deed,"  exclaimed  the  latter.  "  It 
was  that  shriek  which  brought  me  here,  little  thinking  that  it  had  been 
wrung  from  those  beauteous  lips,  by  the  very  scoundrels  I  wa.s  in  pursuit  of 
to  punish  for  their  absence  from  the  ranks.  Right  well  have  you  done. 
These  knaves  were  a  graceless  set — the  worst  of  my  retainers,  and  good 
service  have  you  renderetl  me  in  dispatching  thum.  Pledge  me,l)rave  Knight, 
in  holiest  friendship  from  this  hour,  for  you  have,  even  now,  saved  me  from 
much  weakness  and  greater  wrong.  Shame,  as  you  say.  th;U  the  master 
should  acknowledge  ihi;  same  wild  impul??'  with  the  slave  I"    " 


THK    Mti.NK    KNi'.HT    Ch    ST.    JC>HN. 


19 


ot 
ro- 
und 


••  1  acc^^pl  and  iickiiowl(!djri'  the  |iln<lRc,"'  solnmily  reiivirknd  ihe  Monk, 
•'  not  8o  n»\M'h  it)  t^itriK'st  ot  whiit  li;is  now  occiirriMl,  us  that  I  loujj;  have  marked 
you  as  one  of  llit'  hriivest  and  most  (fallanl  kniffhtb  ol  I'Vmce." 

"TIkmi,  shall  wi'  nt'v<!r  more  be  unknown,"  exr'  mcd  the  Baron,  as  he 
warmly  f^ratipcd  hi.s  hand.  "  Ilencetortli  my  tent  md  liuurt  an;  yours.  Hut 
the  evening  wanes.  What  Hhiill  Ix-  dune  with  kI\\»  our  most  unwillin(f 
char/fe'  It  i.s  now  tuo  hitu  to  hear  them  to  their  lines  and  it  will  not  do  to 
leave  tiiem  wanderers  hy  the  way,  lest  worse  than  tiiis  i.  i  ill  them." 

"  You  are  rit^lii,  Sir  Baron.  Protection  for  the  night  we  must  atl'ord. 
Witliin  your  t'Mit  the  lady  niiiat  irjmse  till  early  dawn,  and  then,  when  tho 
whole  camp  are  wrapped  in  sleep,  kuvc  the  tired  sentinels,  we  can  sally  forth 
and  bear  them  siiCely  to  the  line.s  ot'Saladin." 

"  And  tlie  p(K)r  defloweriti  maidens,  where  shall  they  tind  shelter  '"  asked 
the  younger  knight. 

•'  Even  in  my  own  tent,  '  said  the  Monk.  "  Nay,'  he  continued,  calmly, 
and  with  an  air  of  the  most  imposinfr  dignity,  "  when  you  know  your  friend 
Abdallah  better,  ymi  will  spare  those  meaning  smile.'*.  They  shall  lie  in 
my  humble  tent,  while  I  pass  the  night  in  watchfulness  in  yours." 

"  But  why  111  watchfulness  in  mine,"  eagerly  returned  tho  French  knight. 
•'  Surely  you  will  not  leave  these  hapless  maidens  thus  exposed." 

"  To  see  the  tempter  enters  not  the  portal  to  defile  it,"  was  the  solemn 
reply. 

"  Then  be  it  so,"  remarked  the  Baron  ;  "  and  now  for  the  manner  of  our 
march.  These  damsels  cannot  walk,  and  as  yours  is  the  noblest  steed.  Sir 
Monk,  you  shall  bear  the  noble  lady  on  your  crupper,  who,  enfolding  her 
sweet  arms  around  your  stalwart  form,  shall  thus  preserve  her  seat,  while  I 
follow  with  her  maidens  where  your  monkship  leads." 

"Not  so,"  replied  Abdallah,  quickly,  and  paling  as  he  spoke.  "'The 
lady  must  with  you.  Sir  Baron.  I  am  sworn  to  sternest  vows  of  church,  and 
thus  to  be  in  contact  with  a  woman  might  east  deep  peril  on  my  soul." 

"  That  is  to  say,"  observed  the  Baron,  with  levity.  "  you  would  not  prove 
unfaithful  to  the  church." 

"  (lod  forbid,"  ejaculated  the  Monk.  "  1  would  not  again  be  beset  by  tho 
devilish  temptation  that  assailed  me  at  the  moment  of  your  coming  for  all 
that  earth  contains.  To  him  who  has  my  friendship,"  he  continued,  solemnly 
and  laying  his  hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  young  knight,  "  1  yield  my 
fullest  confidence.  The  woman,  alone,  was  then  before  my  eyes.  The 
stifled  passions  of  a  long  life  were  battling  against  the  open  prayers  of  f;)rty 
years,  and,  but  for  ytnir  timely  arrival,  I  was  lost.  1  felt  that  I  was  fast 
yielding  before  the  tempter,  Snian,  arrayed  in  the  enchanting  form  which 
had  30  ii'Mily  subdued  yourself.  Think  yon,  then,  I  would  a  second  time 
incur  tiie  fearful  risk  her  nearer  presence  Wiinld  entail'" 

"  You  are  right."  said  the  Baron,  who  had  half  expected  an  objection  bo 
little  distasteful  to  himself.  "  Devoted  as  you  are  to  the  monastic  vow,  it 
were  unwise  to  court  this  danger  to  youi-  peace.  With  me  it  is  difierent.  I 
have  entered  into  no  compact  with  the  church,  which  cannot  be  broken.  ;ind 
the  more  presence  of  a  woman  can  impart  no  guilt  unto  my  soul.     Tim  Sar 


t 


20 


rHK    MOVK    KNI'iHT    <>\    >T.    JOHN. 


'^l 


i.i 


I 


ac«!n  ln»ly  tliall  lidp  iMil'ore  me,  and  Iter  hiind-maideriit  mu«l  walk  the  (jnntlo 
paw  w»*  lake." 

"  Hill  iiKirk  limy  army  tliuniHelvcn  in  tbf  driiss  "I'  tliost'  riiHiuim,  returned 
thi'  Monk.  "  Should  wo  Rntor  the  ciimp  with  them  in  tlinir  own  attire,  not 
oiilv  Mhoiild  we  siillt'r  in  our  ri)|)iitalioii,  hiil  there  would  l»e  dan^fur  to  thein- 
■I'lvcs.      Tlif  lifcatiouM  soidiory  would  (|uickly  hoar  them  from  our  night."  , 

♦'  You  say  tm\\i,  ajjniii,  my  Houndly-iudjjiiiy:  friend,"  replied  tl»c  Hnron. 
"  "Twa-s  yiiiins  till-  la.«ik  to  slay  those  wrelehe.s  :  he  it  nuiio  to  strip  th«m  of 
the  (Turli  Ihry  hiive  diHjjracpd." 

So  sayiiiu-  '"'  approaehed  the  fast-HtitrnniiiK  hodi«8  of  hm  mPii,  and  8»'l«ct- 
intf  Iwo  of  iha  HinalleMi  in  form  ami  slatiire,  proceeded  to  divrHt  thoni  of  their 
eliitiiing.  The  youiijf  .Sariicen  fjirU,  while  (•linking  round  their  ininlreiw, 
had  watched  the  whole  of  the  oe«urronees,  from  the  moment  of  the  last 
arrival  of  Ahdaliah,  with  the  mo.it  intense,  interest,  and  they  now  shrank 
haek  iilfriphlcd,  as  the  youn^^er  knight  ijave  them  to  understand,  hy  siffns, 
that  they  w(>re  to  plaeo  the  bloody  dresses  of  their  raviahers  over  their  own. 
They  did  not  seem  to'compreheiid  what  was  meant,  until  the  Monk  explained 
to  them,  in  hrief  terms,  that  the  step  they  were  now  taking  was  neecnsary 
to  their  preservation  from  further  oiitrafje. 

"  .And  how  mean  yon  to  dispose  of  the  lady  ^"  asked  the  Monk,  perceiving 
that  his  frienil  had  finished  stripping  the  lM>die.H.  "  Her  ffarments  will  surely 
be  ohsrrvcd.  and  what  may  not  such  a  sight  produce  amon^;  our  turbulent 
men  at  arms '" 

"  Here  is  her  safeguard,"  answered  the  Baron,  K>'ily>  '^  ''"  unstrapped 
from  the  back  of  his  hiuh-peaked  saddle  an  ample  cloak  of  rich  dark  velvet, 
and  threw  it  around  the  voluptuous  and  nearly  naked  form  of  the  trembling 
Saracen.  "  Beneath  this,  and  with  one  of  those  head-pieces  thrown  over 
the  turban,  I  defy  Satan  himself  to  recojfni7,e  that  which  he  seems  to  have 
sent  for  the  temptation  of  us  all.  It  must  he  confessed,"  he  pursued,  in  an 
under  tone,  and  halt  sif,'hing,  '"  that  rascal  Thibaud  was  not  without  some 
shadow  of  excuse  for  what  he  did." 

"Tiii.s  will  do,"  daid  the  Monk,  as  the  attendants,  who  had  previously 
retired  to  the  skirt  of  the  wood,  to  cover  themselves  with  a  clothin|r  which 
they  abhorred,  now  appeared  timidly  before  him,  "  but  the  gambesons  must  l>e 
borne  by  them  also.  Thoy  will  suffer  a  little  beneath  the  unusual  weight, 
it  is  true,  but  better  that  than  a  repetition  of  what  has  already  befallen  them. 
Nay,  more  than  this  ;  they  must  bear  the  weapons  of  the  dead.  None  then 
will  take  them  for  other  than  your  own  men-at-arms." 

IJoth  knights  had  now  replaced  their  helmets.  The  younger  raised  him- 
self into  the  saddle,  and  sat  ready  to  receive  his  fair  burden,  over  whose 
turbaned  brow  had  been  placed  the  head-piece  of  the  very  man  from 
whose  fierce  and  indomitable  lust  she  had  been  so  opportunely  rescued  by 
Abdallah.  She  stood  at  the  horse's  head,  wrapped  in  the  cloak,  and  looked 
upwards  in  supplication,  as  though  she  feared  the  rider  would  go  without  her. 

"  Raise  her  to  my  saddle-bow,"  said  the  latter,  addressing  the  Monk— 
"  raise  her  gently  to  hor  seat.  Now  that  the  cloak  is  removed,  there  i» 
plenty  ofToom  for  both  in  the  hollow  of  the  saddle." 


THK    MONK    KNKiHT    OK    ^T.    JOHN. 


21 


"  \nil  mu.il  I  luueh  hor,"  iiiiinixirml  the  Monk  :  "  iiiiiMt  thcat;  humia  coiiie 
ir.  <()»itact  with  ht-r  I'onn'" 

"  By  mv  faith,"  Muid  ile  lioiHCuiirt,  iHUKhiii)^  i>iitri|;ht,  "hut  I  know  no 
other  inutiiiH  Itv  wliu  li  she  can  uf\  then',  unlftMH,  iiidrrd,  yuii  ciin  Innd  hnr 
the  winfTs  ot'tUitli  ^   iii>t  her  in  htir  IliKht." 

With  ;i  vJoltMit  ctforl  :it  i^ouipoHurc,  AlMlalliih  |ilii<;*!il  lioth  Ihh  |iu1inH  nndur 
ih<^  arms  ot  ilic  Siini<;<Mi,  iind  riiiM-d  hftr  to  th*>  Huddli;.  'I'h)'  cloak  had 
purtcd  in  front  wliile  in  lliP  act  of  doiiiff  ao,  and  as  hu  drew  away  liis  handn 
rapidly,  n  iv.  ulinoHt  with  a  foeliii^  •>*  loathing,  thoy  hruHliml  li|;litly  a^ainHt 
her  ma^nitU'iMit,  nnooiiHnrd,  and  Klowiuu  lioHoin  ;  institictivoly,  and  without 
being  wnmihlo  of  the  act,  the  Monk  promiutl  that  ht'auty  wildly  in  hit)  tifiii- 
blinif  hands  :  hut  no  sooner  had  li<*  done  so,  than  he  feltont;  of  thi>ui  irrasped, 
and  n  fervent  kiss  of  gratitude  imprinted  on  it  hy  lips  that  were  uioiitt  and 
fragrant  as  the  very  dews  that  were  fast  gathering  around  theui. 

Fated  Abdallah!  Who  shall  rob  the  touch  of  what  it  once  hiut  known, 
racking  the  brain  with  such  wild  fever  of  recollection,  that  to  repeat  the 
maddening  act,  the  sternest  monk  that  ever  tore  his  flesh  with  thongs,  would 
forfeit  all  of  hope  hereat\er.  That  touch  was  thine,  Alxlallnh  !  What  lir.st 
thy  much-bewildered  eye  had  seen,  thy  monkish  hand  caressed.  'I'nie,  hut 
for  a  moment;  but  in  that  moment  tho\i  hadst  lived  a  life  of  kiu)wled<re. 
What  Gotl-creatod  charms!  Ah,  what  a  world  of  memory  waslhciel  It 
wa«  the  triumph  of  nature  over  art — of  truth  over  falsehood — of  a  hallowed 
and  divine  sentiment,  over  the  cold  and  abstract  conventionalisms  of  a  world 
which,  child-like,  forges  its  own  chains,  fetters  its  mvn  limbs,  and  gloiies 
in  the  display  of  its  own  bondage. 


CHAPTER    V. 


For  acme  minutes,  Abdallah  remained  absorbed  in  the  feelings  which 
seemed  almost  to  convulse  his  frame,  but  perceiving  that  bis  strong  emotion 
was  remarked  by  the  French  knight,  who,  after  having  secured  the  cloak 
around  his  charge,  was  now  preparing  to  depart,  he  made  an  effort  at  -ielf- 
command,  and  raised  himself  heavily  to  his  saddle. 

The  sun  had  long  gone  down,  and  the  shades  of  twilight  had  merged  into 
darkness.  Their  course  through  the  sycamore  grove  was  difficult  to  trace, 
but  as  they  emerged  into  the  open  plain,  the  outline  of  object.s  was  clearly 
discernible.  The  younger  knight  was  in  front.  A  few  yards  behind  him 
walked  the  attendants  of  the  fair  Saracen,  habited  as  has  been  seen,  while 
at  an  equal  distance  rode  Abdallah,  the  whole  moving  at  a  pace  that  was 
necessarily  slow. 

In  spite  of  himself,  in  spite  of  the  determination  he  had  formed,  to  impose 
the  most^vere  self-denial  upon  his  feelings,  the  Monk  could  not  distract  his 
attention  from  the  outline  of  the  figure  of  de  Boiscourt,  before  whom  rode 
the  fascinating  and  voluptuous  infidel  who  had  raised  such  a  tempest  in  his 


^ 


•^» 


THK    MONK    KNIOHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


I 


is 


soul.  Clouds  were  pa.'^sing  in  the  heavens.  The  moon,  tlion  in  hor  infancy, 
^ppciired  only  at  intervals  through  the  flitting  vapor,  no.v  aiiddeiily  illu- 
minating everything  around,  and  then  as  rapidly  siiadowing  with  darkness. 
lA)oking  attentively,  during  one  of  these  fitful  gleams,  he  i»crceived  that  the 
Baron  had  removed  his  helmet,  which  now  hung  from  his  saddle-how,  and 
that  he  was  bending  his  head,  his  heautiful  hair  hanging  over  his  shoulders, 
low  over  the  figure  which  his  arms  encircled.  Once  or  twice  he  atartcd,  as 
he  fancied  he  heard  the  sound  of  human  lips,  meeting  and  parting  in  an 
intensitjj  of  tenderness ;  and,  as  his  but  too  vivid  recollection  traced  all  the 
outline  of  the  gorgeous  beauty  which  lay  within  the  full  grasp  of  the  young 
knight's  daring  hand,  he  experienced  a  burning  heat  within  his  veins,  that 
Btung  him  with  impatience  to  reach  the  camp. 

At  length,  about  midnight,  they  arrived.  All  war^  still.  The  groups 
that,  a  few  hours  before,  had  thronged  each  avenue  of  the  vast  enclosure  in 
revelry  and  amusement,  were  now  steeped  in  repose — all  save  the  watchful 
aentiaels,  who  vigilantly  guarded  the  approaches.  The  pass-word  was  given. 
Tho  women  were  mistaken  for  attendants  of  the  Baron,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
the  little  party  stood  before  the  entrance  to  the  rude  tent  of  the  Monk  Knight, 
which,  strongly  in  contrast  with  that  of  the  Baron  de  Boiscourt,  was 
barely  furnished  with  the  absolute  necessaries  of  life. 

"  Better  dismount  here,"  said  the  Baron,  as  Abdallah  quilted  his  saddle. 
"  We  shall,  with  the  greater  ease  and  freedom  from  interruption,  gain  my 
tent.     I  pray  you  my  holy  friend,  once  more  relieve  me  of  my  charge." 

But  the  Monk  had  now  armed  himself  with  that  virtue  which  for  a 
moment,  but  in  thought  alone,  had  yielded  to  the  tempter.  A  sudden 
revulsion  of  feeling  had  come  over  him.  He  almost  loathed  himself  for  the 
momentary  weakness  that  had  beset  his  soul. 

"That  office  heat  may  suit  one  of  the  lady's  handmaidens,"  he  replied, 
rather  sternly  :  "  what  holy  knight  may  do,  surely  I  have  done.  An  arm  of 
strength  it  needed  to  exalt  her  in  reach  of  the  lesson  thou  hast  doubtless 
taught  her,  de  Boiscourt,  but  now  a  child  may  lead  her  thence.  Tjend  your 
mistress  aid,"  he  concluded,  in  Moorish,  to  one  of  the  attendants. 

The  girl  did  as  directed,  and  the  fair  Saracen,  putting  her  hands  upon  her 
shoulders,  leaped  lightly  to  the  ground.  But  the  trial  of  Abdallah's  virtue 
was  not  yet  at  an  end.  As  she  alighted,  the  loose  cloak,  entangled  in  the 
peak  of  the  saddle,  was  left  behind,  and  the  bosom  of  her  tunic,  evidently 
displaced  during  the  ride,  again  exhibited  in  the  moonlight  to  his  unwilUng 
view,  the  most  gorgeous  of  female  charms.  ^A- 

'•  Imprudent !"  he  exclaimed,  sternly,  in  Moorish,  as  he  advanced,  disen- 
gaged the  cloak,  and  threw  it  over  her  half-naked  form.  "  If  you  have  no 
consideration  for  others,  have  at  least  regard  for  your  own  safety  ;  let  but 
some  prowling  eye — some  straggler  of  the  camp — behold  that  womanhood, 
and  nothing  will  arrest  the  fete  from  which  you  have  once  been  rescued." 

*'  Yon  have  given  me  more  than  life ;  you  have  saved  me  from  the  outrage 
of  those  horrid  men,"  she  answered,  in  the  same  tongue,  and  in  a  voice 
whose  every  note  was  sweetness.  "  Ah  '  I  would  not  incur  that  risk  again, 
even  to  mingle  with  the  Houris  and  to  share  their  bliss; — accept,  then,  mj 
gratitude.     Spurn  me  not  away.     Let  me  kneel  and  thank  you.*' 


I     i  V    < 

--A 


■■'Sr 


THE    MONK    KNIOHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


23 


!  ^ 


Sbe  fell  at  his  feet.  Again  she  caught  his  hands,  imprinted  a  kise  upon 
tnem,  and  before  he  had  time  to  prevent  her,  or  even  to  anticipate  the  action, 
pressed  them  tenderly  upon  her  glowing  and  heaving  bosom. 

"  Nay,  this  weakness  must  not  be,"  he  said,  as,  stifling  his  emotion,  tie 
withdrew  his  hands,  almost  violently,  and  strode  towards  a  smaller  tent  that 
stood  immediately  behina  his  own,  and  in  which  reposed  the  man-at-arms 
who  usually  took  charge  of  his  steed.  Returning  the  next  moment,  he  cau- 
tioned the  French  Knight  to  keep  the  cloak  closely  folded  around  the  person 
of  the  lady,  lest  the  man  whom  he  had  awakened,  and  who  was  now  ap- 
proaching, should  notice  her.  and  thus,  by  possibility,  commit  him  with  his 
Order. 

"  Fear  me  not,  brave  Monk,"  replied  the  Baron  to  his  caution  :  "  no  ia- 
discretion  shall  be  mine  :  but,  the  better  to  favcr  our  approach  to  my  own 
tent,  let  both  our  steeds  remain  here.  It  is  but  to  feed  and  keep  them  sad- 
dled for  early  dawn,  when  we  can  again  prepare  us  for  our  journey." 

"Justly  remarked,"  said  Abdallah ;  "retire  within  the  shadow  of  the 
tent  with  your  women,"  he  continued  in  Moorish,  to  the  Saracen  lady, 
"  some  one  comes." 

The  man,  half  asleep,  and  too  stupid  to  notice  anything  beyond  the  mere 
mechanical  duty  required  of  him,  now  came  up,  and  after  having  received 
the  orders  of  Abdallah,  withdrew  with  the  chargers  to  the  front  of  his  own 
tent,  which  looked  in  an  opposite  direction.  As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight, 
the  Monk  entered  his  own,  and  having  lighted  his  rude  lamp,  pointed  out  to 
the  two  waiting-women  the  humble  couch  they  were  to  occupy  until  called 
for  at  early  dawn.  He  then  gave  to  each  a  piece  of  brown  bread  and  a 
bunch  of  grapes,  and  after  having  placed  a  pitcher  of  water  by  their  couch, 
bade  them  lie  down  ;  desiring  them  on  no  account  to  stir,  until  he  should 
come  in  person  to  call  them.  He  then  extinguished  the  light,  and  moved  to 
the  entrance  of  the  tent,  where  the  Baron  stood  in  careless  attitude,  shielding 
the  now  closely-cloaked  Saracen  in  his  embrace.  They  all  then  proceeded 
in  that  direction  of  the  Christian  camp  in  which  the  latter  had  hoisted  his 
pennon. 

Owing  to  the  precaution  of  de  Boiscourt  in  leaving  his  steed  behind,  there 
-was  no  sound  created  in  their  progress,  which  could  disturb  the  sleeping 
thousands  that  surrounded  them,  so  that  little  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
had  elapsed  before  they  found  themselves  at  the  entrance  of  the  gaily  orna- 
mented tent  of  the  young  French  Knight.  There  they  were  met  by  the 
handsome  page,  who  had  been  anxiously  awaiting  his  lord's  return,  and  who 
expressed  the  most  affectionate  concern  lest  some  accident  should  have  oo- 
curred  to  detain  him  so  late.  He  was  aware  that  he  had  not  fallen,  or  even 
been  hurt,  in  the  morning's  foray,  for  he  had  been  constantly  at  his  side  ;  but 
having  suddenly  lost  sight  of  him  in  the  evening,  and  when  the  battle  was 
over,  he  had  been  led  to  apprehend  that  some  straggling  band  of  the  dietnim- 
fited  enemy,  might  have  fallen  in  with  and  made  him  their  captive. 

"  And  so,  my  gentle  boy,  I  was  a  captive  to  the  Saracen,"  said  the  Baron, 
after  having  heard  from  Rudolph  the  little  history  of  the  fears  he  had  enter- 
tained— "  but  all  that  you  shall  learn  later.  Meanwhile,"  and  he  removed 
the  head-piece,  the  turban  of  the  beautiful  infidel — "  conduct  the  captivete 


t 


:i 


m 


24 


THE   MONK    KNIGHT   OF   ST.    JOHN. 


t    > 


i 


■•i.i 


my  inner  tent — give  her  of  Cyprus  wine,  and  those  figs  of  Ascalon,  whidi 
melt  like  liquid  amber  in  the  mouth.  Nay,  Rudolph,  fie — fix  not  thoae  blue 
and  earnest  eyes  upon  her  thus,  for  see  how  the  blood  mantles  on  her  cheek — 
else  how  will  you  ever  find  calmness  to  array  her — as  array  her  you  must — in 
one  of  your  plainest  battle-suits.  Nay,  look  not  surprised,  my  Rudolph. 
'Tis  even  so.  At  dawn  we  must  away  again  ;  this  lady  as  my  page.  Yet 
say  to  none  on  earth  that  the  ripened  beauty  of  a  glowing  infidel  has  past  the 
portal  of  a  Christian  knight ;  still  less,  that  a  holy  monk  of  the  austere  bro- 
therhood of  St.  John — henceforth,  mark  you,  boy,  your  master's  plighted 
friend — has  lent  his  aid  and  sanction  to  conduct  her  here." 

"  Your  word  is  law — all  of  secresy  is  mine,  my  gracious  lord,"  replied 
the  youth  earnestly,  yet  coloring  deeply  as  he  saw  the  eyes  of  the  beautiful 
Saracen  turned  upon  him  with  a  tenderness  of  expression  which  denoted 
curiosity  and  interest,  that  one  so  youthful,  so  delicate,  should  be  found 
amid  the  hosts  of  battle,  and  a  sharer  in  all  those  scenes  of  blood,  which, 
under  the  garb  of  religion,  were  even  then  devastating  the  fair  soil  of  Pales- 
tine. She  seemed  to  say  to  herself,  "  Ah,  if  he  has  a  mother — if  he  has 
sisters,  how  must  they  bewail  his  absence,  and  count  the  days  until  his 
return !" 

"If  the  lady  will  permit  me,"  said  the  blnshing  boy,  with  a  hesitating 
manner,  as  be  oflTered  her  his  hand,  to  conduct  her  to  the  inner  tent. 

Evidently  not  comprehending  the  motive  of  this  action,  the  Saracen  held 
out  her  own  hand,  took  his,  and  affectionately  pressed  it  as  a  mother  would 
that  of  her  son. 

Abdallah  explained  to  her,  in  Moorish,  that  afler  having  taken  a  few  hours 
repose  on  the  couch  whither  the  boy  would  lead  her,  she  was  to  be  induct- 
ed in  one  of  his  suits,  as  a  better  means  of  security  in  her  departure  from 
the  camp.  , 

With  a  look  expressive  of  deep  gratitude,  the  beautiful  woman  caught,  at 
the  same  moment,  the  hand  of  the  Monk  and  that  of  the  younger  Knight, 
and  pressing  them  gracefully  to  her  bosom,  sought  to  demonstrate,  by  that 
act,  the  deep  sense  she  entertained  of  ail  that  had  been  done  for  her.  She 
then,  conducted  by  Rudolph,  withdrew  into  the  remoter  part  of  the  capacious 
tent. 

"  Fail  not,  boy,  when  you  have  disposed  of  your  charge,"  said  the  light- 
hearted  de  Boiscourt,  "to  bring  us  lights,  food>  and  a  couple  of  flasks  of 
Cyprus  wine  ;  and,  hear  me,  youngster,"  he  added,  smiling,  "  the  tempta- 
tion to  linger  is  strong,  but  be  not  too  tardy  in  lulling  her  to  sleep." 

"  Is  not  that  strange  language  to  use  to  so  mere  a  child  V  questioned  the 
Monk  Knight,  somewhat  reproachAilly,  when  they  were  alone. 

The  Baron  smiled.  "  There  is  little  to  be  said  or  taught  to  Rudolph,"  he 
replied  gaily.  He  has  ever  been  the  pet  of  such  noble  Saracen  dames  as 
the  fortune  of  battle  has  thrown  into  our  hando ;  and,  by  my  faith,  he  is  not 
one  to  neglect  improving  an  occasion." 

Abdallah  raised  his  eyes  in  astonishment.  "  So  young,  so  beautiful,  and 
yet  so  hardened  in  sin!"  he  ejaculated.  "  Of  a  verity,  the  Christian  camp 
has  that  within  its  limits,  that  well  may  lead  us  to  despair  of  the  eventual 
success  of  our  cause.     No  !"  he  continued,  emphatically,  "  I  prophecy  that, 


«J 


f 


V^ 


m. 


THE   MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


90 


notwithstanding  all  the  blood  that  ha.s  been  shed — all  that  will  be  shed 
for  the  extinction  of  Moslemism,  and  the  propagation  of  the  true  faith,  we 
shall  never  firmly  establish  the  cross  in  Palestine.  Heaven  chooses  not 
such  agents  to  accomplish  its  ends.  Murder,  rapine  and  unholy  lust  are  not 
the  means  by  which  its  will  is  to  be  effected.  Mark  my  words,  Sir  Baron  !" 
and  the  usually  calm  and  benignant  expression  of  his  noble  countenance  be- 
came clouded  as  he  spoke — "  either  a  strange  revolution  must  take  place  in 
the  moral  condition  of  the  Crusaders,  or  we  shall  return  to  Europe  with 
ignominy  and  disgrace.  Not  all  the  virtue  of  the  holy  Urban  himself  can 
avert  this." 

'•  You  speak  like  an  oracle,  my  noble  Monk,"  returned  the  Baron,  se- 
riously. "  By  my  troth,  but  I  half  incline  myself  to  believe  that  your  pre- 
diction will  prove  correct.  It  must  l>e  confessed  that,  with  the  trifling 
difference  in  their  favor,  that  they  have  almost  a  new  wife  for  every  month 
in  the  year    these  infidel  dogs  beat  us  hollow  in  the  practice  of  morality." 

"  And  their  plurality  of  wives,"  remarked  the  Monk,  gravely,  "  is,  you 
know,  permitted  by  their  religion  ;  therefore  there  is  no  infringement  of  a 
moral  law." 

"What  a  delicious  idea  !"  resumed  the  gay  and  imaginative  Baron — 
"  that  of  being  nursed  in  the  lap  of  so  many  loves — the  dark,  the  fair — the 
short,  the  tall — the  voluptuous,  the  graceful — the  tender,  the  impassioned. 
By  my  troth,  had  I  not  espoused  the  most  beautiful,  the  most  enchanting 
woman  in  the  whole  world — one  who  has  no  equal  but  in  heaven — I  could  find 
it  in  my  heart  to  embrace  Moslemism,  and  take  my  fill  of  their  Houris  both 
here  and  hereafter.     Ha!  that  graceless  boy  '     Did  you  hear  1" 

The  young  Knight  had  been  interrupted  in  his  remarks  by  sounds  that 
seemed  to  him  to  partake  of  the  mixed  character  of  murmurs  and  sighs, 
several  times  gently  repeated,  firom  the  interior  of  the  tent. 

"  What  mean  you  ?"  asked  Abdallah,  with  an  air  of  surprise  ;  "  I  heard 
nothing." 

"  I  was  deceived,"  continued  de  Boiscourt,  not  desir'ng  that  the  attention 
of  his  new  and  severe  friend  should  be  directed  to  what  he  had  involuntarily 
noticed  aloud.     "  Rudolph,  you  have  forgotten  the  wine." 

In  the  course  of  a  few  seconds,  the  page  made  his  appearance  with  a  lamp 
newly  trimmed,  and  a  small  basket,  containing  some  cold  refreshments,  fruits, 
and  a  couple  of  osier-covered  flasks  of  Cyprus  wine,  which  he  deposited  on 
the  low  table  at  which  the  friends  were  already  seated.  His  face  was 
flushed.  The  Baron,  without  making  any  remark,  looked  at  him  attentively. 
This  caused  the  boy  to  blush  even  more. 

"  How  fares  your  charge,  my  Ganymede  V  inquired  the  young  Knight, 
playfully,  and  in  a  tone  designed  to  set  the  boy  at  his  ease. 

**«kie  «aolipa*-^n  my.iwBd's  couch,"  answered  Rudolph,  "and  in  the 
ample  cloak  in  which  she  came." 

"  You  have  not,  then,  habited  her  in  her  page's  attire?  Did  your  young 
heart  fail  you  in  the  attempt  ?" 

"  I  signed  to  her  that  I  was  ready  to  assist  her,"  returned  the  still  blush- 
ing boy,  "  bot^e,  in  the  same  manner,  gave  me  to  understand  that  she  would 
sleep  first,  and  change  afterwards." 


I 


fii 


M 


'ip 


'I 


» 


se 


THt;    MOVK    U'N'ii.lir    dl'- 


roHV. 


"  Did  you  give  her  wine  .'"  punsiKMl  the  iJaroii,  nmlicioimly.  ••  i  am  surt- 
of  her  having  t:isu>(l  the  grapn.  fcr  I  tli<)iii»ht  her  lips  iniirUe<l  linw  ,ii>n'<i!ihly 
she  relished  its  flavdr." 

Rudolph  remarked  that  thi'  Haitrn's  eyes  were  intently,  hut  n(»l  liiiislily, 
fixed  upon  him,  and  he  cohired  tu  the  very  hr>»\v.  Ahilallah  had  lutl  imticed 
anything  particular  in  the  matter. 

"  I  gave  what  my  lord  desired,"  said  tiie  Page,  with  a  deprecating  look 
and  manner. 

"  Dear  Rudolph,"  resuined  the  young  Knight,  '■  drink  of  my  eup  and  re- 
tire— you  have  need  of  rest — your  cheek  hetrays  the  excitement  of  fatigue 
and  long  watching,  and  you  know  you  must  he  up  hetimcs.  When  the  hour 
is  near  I  shall  call  you.  Disturb  not  the  stranger  lady  until  then  ;  but,  lest 
she  should  require  aught  in  the  intervening  hours,  spread  my  lion's  skin  near 
the  couch,  and  place  yourself  at  her  side." 

While  draining  off  the  wine,  the  boy  looked  at  the  Knight,  as  though  he. 
did  not  quite  understand  him.  "  Good  night,  sweet  Rudolph,''  said  the 
latter,  taking  and  pressing  his  hand.  "  Make  the  most  of  the  few  hours  that 
are  given  you,"  he  added,  significantly.  "  Myself  and  this  holy  Knight  will 
keep  watch  for  the  dawn." 

Again  the  eye  of  the  page  caught  that  of  the  Barou.  The  expression 
brought  him  at  once  to  his  knees.  He  kissed  the  hand  that  was  extended  to 
him,  and  again  rising,  with  a  countenance  radiant  with  expression,  retired  to 
his  humble  couch.  •  ■■- 


CHAPTER    VI, 


It  wanted  about  an  hour  of  dawn.  The  Baron  and  Abdallah,  who  never 
refused  his  wine  in  moderation,  had  finished  the  two  flasks  brought  in  by  the 
page,  and  the  latter,  overcome  not  more  by  the  fatigues  of  the  day,  than  by 
the  violent  but  concealed  passion,  over  which,  however,  he  had  finally  gained 
the  victory,  was  reclining  in  his  seat,  calmly,  but  profoundly  asleep. 

The  hour,  the  opportunity,  were  tempting.  A  gentle  and  voluptuous 
feeling  suddenly  stole  over  the  heart  of  de  Boiscourt.  He  knew  where 
Rudolph  was.  He  had  heard  the  same  subdued  sighs  and  murmurs  since 
the  return  of  the  beautiful  boy,  and  now  he  adopted  a  wild  resolution. 
Cautiously  he  approached  the  curtain  which  divided  the  two  portions  of 
the  tent.  A  lamp  was  burning  faintly  in  the  distance,  the  light  evidently 
screened,  but  still  there  was  sufficient  to  throvM*to  foll-^«3fw»f-*fc*  novctU 
objects  around.  The  lion's  skin  was  spread  out  upon  the  floor,  but  there 
was  no  one  extended  on  it.  He  raised  his  glance  to  the  couch  beyond,  and 
beheld,  as  lie  had  expected  to  see,  the  blooming  youth  pillowed  on  the  bosom 
of  his  charge.  The  outline  of  their  forms  was  distinctly  marked.  She  was 
robed  simply  in  the  white  tunic  she  had  resumed  in  the  morning,  but  this, 
disordered   and  loose,  only  heightened  the  effect  of  her  powerful  beauty. 


"^K. 


TIW.    IVIONK    KNIOIIT    ON    87.    JOHN. 


27 


Her  attitude;  wxs  one  of  perfect  abandonment.  Her  long,  thick,  dark  hait 
was  unconfined.  One  moulded  arm  waa  thrown,  with  the  protecting  fund" 
meas  of  a  mother,  around  tiie  neck  of  the  boy,  and  while  her  rich,  ripe,  red 
lipc  were  poutingly  pressed  to  his,  the  other  was  thrown  carelessly  over  hia 
bock.  They  were  perfectly  motionless.  The  group  was  worthyof  the  chisel 
«rthe  sculptor. 

The  Baron  dropped  the  curtain  he  had  partially  raised,  and  retired  a  step 
or  two,  intending  to  call  out  to  the  page  from  the  seat  he  had  just  quitted,  at 
Um>,  side  of  the  Monk.  But  when  he  reflected  that  the  sound  of  his  voice 
would  awaken  Abdallah,  he  again  advanced,  passed  into  the  inner  tent,  and 
ta4))>ing  the  boy  on  the  shoulder,  caused  him  to  spring,  with  something  like 
terror,  from  the  arms  that  still  fondly  encircled  him. 

'■'  Rudolph, "  said  his  master,  gently,  "  go  forth  instantly  to  the  tent  of  my 
friend,  the  Monk  Knight  of  St.  John,  which  you  will  find  at  the  extreme 
comer  of  the  north-east  division  of  the  encampment.  There  is  another  and 
smaller  one  beside  it.  At  the  entrance  of  the  latter,  you  will  see  two  steeds 
all  ready  for  mounting,  and  held  by  the  drowsy  retainer  of  the  Knight.  You 
know  the  fiery  Beloeil  well ;  he  is  one  of  them.  You  will  mount  him  ami 
lead  the  other.'' 

"  And  when  I  have  brought  the  horses,  my  lord?"  inquiringly  remarked 
tbe  boy. 

*'  You  will  tarry  silently  at  the  door  of  my  tent  until  we  join  you." 

"  And  the  lady  1"  ventured  the  page,  with  some  hesitation.  "  Who  is  to 
robe  her  for  the  journey,  my  lord  ?" 

*'  That  shall  be  my  care,  considerate  Rudolph,"  replied  the  Baron  archly, 
as  he  patted  his  head  affectionately.  "  First  point  me  out  the  clothes  you  in- 
tend for  her.  Ah,  there  !  'tis  well.  And  now  gp;  but  as  you  move  through 
tke  tent,  mark  well,"  and  he  looked  significantly,  "  that  you  do  not  awaken 
the  Monk.     He  sleeps  fatigued,  and  must  not  be  disturbed." 

As  the  page  passed  through  the  curtain,  the  Baron  followed  him  with  his 
eye  to  see  if  he  in  any  way  attracted  the  attention  of  the  sleeper.  His  tread 
was  subdued,  and  he  gained  the  entrance  of  the  tent  without  disturbing  Ab- 
dallah .  What  a  volcano  of  passion  was  now  at  the  heart  of  de  Boiscourt.  He 
hack  at  the  side  of  the  beautiful  Saracen.  Her  breathing  was  deep— impassion- 
ed ;  it  carried  consciousness  of  the  presence  of  one  who  could  call  forth  its  more 
generous  impulses.  Gradually  he  stole  an  arm  around  her  moulded  form — 
ooR  hand  pressed  her  polished  and  heaving  bosom,  which  absolutely  bounded 
beneath  his  first  touch  ;  the  other  madly  weaved  and  clenched  itself  in  her 
lang  and  clustering  hair.  Ah  I  where  was  the  Lady  Ernestina^  Even  then, 
strange  as  it  may  seem  to  the  novice  in  the  wild  imaginings  of  the  human 
keart,  she  was  uppermost  in  the  thoughts  of  the  fiery  and  voluptuous  de  Bois- 
eourt — the  fondly-cherished  husband  cf  her  long-widowed  love.  The  rich 
and  parted  lips  of  the  Saracen  met  his,  and  a  thousand  fires  consumed  their 
■ouls.  He  stopped  the  murmured  sighs  of  guilty  transport  she  would  have 
altered,  and  the  intensity  of  bliss  was  upon  their  willing  hearts.  Ah,  how 
different  that  voluptuous  woman  now  from  what  she  had  been  a  few  hours 
earlier,  when  subject  to  the  will  of  the  brutal  Thtbaud. 

**  Tjove,  love — divine  and  mystic  love — thou  richest,  rarest  attribute  of  w(»- 


( 


28 


THE  MONK  KNtGHT  Or  ST.  JOHN. 


•I 


f  1 


^ 


man,  who  can  resist  thy  enthralmentH,  when  presented  in  such  a  shape!" 
muttered  de  Boiscourt  fiercely,  through  his  closed  teeth  : — "  Ernestina,  my 
beloved  Ernestina,  forgive  the  adoring  husband  who  thinks  only  of  thee 
while  in  the  arms  of  one  of  whom  Mahomet  alone  is  worthy — sweet,  sweet 
Ernestina,  receive  my  soul." 

Guilty,  guilty  de  Boiscourt ' — doubly  guilty  in  this,  that  thou  hadst  not 
only  violated  the  sanctity  of  hospitality,  but  forfeited  thy  implied  pledge  tu 
thy  friend — that  holy  warrior  Monk,  whose  very  presence  under  thy  knightly 
roof,  gave  tenfold  sin  unto  the  deed ;  and  yet  thy  wrong  was  not  without  a 
stem,  reproving  but  pitying  witness. 

Lost  in  the  wild  tumult  of  their  excited  feelings,  the  guilty  pair  thought 
not  of  Abdallah,  who  had  awakened  from  his  restless  and  uneasy  slumber, 
and  finding  the  young  Knight  absent  from  his  side,  could  not  doubt, 
novice  even  as  he  was,  that  the  ardent  and  impetuous  youth  had  weakly 
yielded  to  the  sorcery  of  the  beauty  of  the  infidel.  But  if  so,  where 
was  Rudolph  ?  Surely  some  remnant  of  shame  would  prevent  him  from 
availing  himself  of  her  evident  partiality  for  him,  in  presence  of  the  boy. 
To  assure  himself  that  his  surmise  was  incorrect,  and  that  the  sounds 
proceeded  merely  from  cause.s  connected  with  her  change  of  raiment,  he 
slowly  approached  the  curtain.  (lently  he  raised  one  corner,  and  stood 
almost  transfixed  with  confusion  at  what  he  beheld.  There  was  now  no 
doubting  the  evidence  of  his  sense?.  Rudolph  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  but 
on  the  broad  velvet  couch,  and  faintly  revealed  in  the  dim  light  which 
burned  in  the  distance,  he  saw  the  lady  and  the  Knight  fast  locked  in  each 
other's  arms.  Abdallah  felt  the  blood  to  ebb  and  flow  within  his  veins  with 
a  violence  that  threatened  to  destroy  him.  Quickly  he  dropped  the  curtain, 
pressed  his  hands  to  his  aching  hrow,  and  sank  upon  his  knees,  praying 
silently,  but  fiervently,  that  some  dreadful  scourge  might  not  fall  upon  the 
Christian  camp,  as  a  punishment  for  so  great  a  sin.  Somewhat  relieved  by 
this  prayer,  he  rose,  moved  back  to  the  seat  he  had  just  left,  and  mused 
deeply.  For  the  first  time,  the  veil  had  fallen  from  before  his  eyes,  the 
sealed  book  of  God's  holiest  mystery  had  been  fully  opened  to  him. 

An  hour  had  passed  away  since  the  handsome  de  Boiscourt  first  entered  that 
more  retired  portion  of  his  tent.  The  Saracen  had  risen,  and  having  with 
his  assistance  completed  her  page's  toilet,  and  now  lingered  for  the  signal  of 
departure.  The  young  Knight,  after  bestowing  upon  her  the  most  passionate 
caresses,  sought  to  rejoin  his  friend,  who  he  was  apprehensive  might  awaken 
and  remark  his  absence.  Before  leaving,  however,  he  poured  out  and 
offered  to  her  a  small  tankard  of  Cyprus  wine,  and  some  deliciously  perfumed 
grapes,  to  cool  the  fever  of  excitement  in  her  veins,  and  to  strengthen  her 
for  her  journey.  She  merely  tasted  of  these,  and  as  he  turned  to  leave  her, 
put  them  aside,  and  sank  upon  her  knees  at  his  feet.  Her  arms  embraced 
his  legs.  Her  head  was  bowed  down,  and  her  loose  and  luxuriant  hair 
completely  enveloped  his  feet.  She  shed  a  torrent  of  tears,  and  deep  sobs 
came  from  her  bosom.  When  she  had  given  full  vent  to  these,  she  pointed 
to  the  dress  in  wh!'*h  she  had  been  habited,  and  gave  him  to  comprehend,  by 
signs  not  to  be  mi^-.dken,  that  she  wou!ri  j^ia-Jy  retain  the  garb,  and  serve 
him  as  a  page  forever.    The  heart  of  Ute  Baroi>  wa,^  full  of  emotion,  but 


4 


THE    MONK    KNIOHT    Ol-'    ST.    JOHN. 


29 


alas,  this  could  not  be  done.  Had  he  not  made  the  acquaintance  of  the 
Monk,  and  exchanged  with  him  vowa  of  eternal  confidence  and  friendship, 
his  warm  and  generous  heart  never  couhl  have  withstood  the  appeal,  and 
running  all  risks  to  himself,  he  would  have  joyfully  yielded  to  her  proposal. 
But  as  it  Wfis,  and  after  the  pledge  which  had  been  given — (he  little  suspecte*! 
that  the  Monk  was  cognizant  of  its  violation) — it  was  impossible  that,  without 
i^If-dcgiadation  as  a  Christian  knight,  he  could  retain,  even  as  his  page,  an 
infidel,  whose  very  presence  was  an  outrage  upon  the  holy  principles  and 
feelings  of  the  noble-mindod  and  confiding  Monk  of  St.  John. 

Still,  full  of  tender  sympathy  for  her,  he  raised  her  gently  up,  and  by  an- 
Kwering  signs,  gave  hor  to  understand  that  this  was  impossible — that  painful 
as  it  must  prove  to  both,  they  must  part.  He,  however,  took  a  brilliant  ring 
from  his  finger,  and,  after  carrying  it  to  his  lips,  placed  it  on  her  beautiful 
hand.  Gratified  by  this  act,  she  at  once  followed  his  example,  (for,  in 
the  anxiety  of  their  gross  and  brutal  lust  for  her,  the  ruffians  who  ha<l 
violated  her  attendants,  had  not  even  thought  of  dispos.scs8ing  her  of  her 
jewels),  moistened  it  with  her  still  trickling  tears,  and  placed  it  on  the  litile 
finger  of  dc  Boiscourt's  left  hand.  Then,  throwing  her  moulded  arms  around 
his  neck,  and  passionately  pressing  her  ripe  lips  to  his,  she  left  there  the  last 
outpourings  of  the  deep  passion  he  had  infused  into  her. 

Again  the  young  Knight  sat  on  the  chair  he  had  occupied  opposite  to  tho 
Monk,  who  still  seemed  to  sleep  profoundly,  and  a  half  sentiment  of  exulta- 
tion crept  over  de  Boiscourt's  heart,  as  he  thought  of  the  successful  manner 
in  which  he  had  deceived  him  ;  not  that  it  must  be  inferred  his  was  a  nature 
that  could  take  pleasure  in  the  mere  fact  of  deceit  itself,  but,  because  it  WiLs 
voluptuously  soothing  to  him  to  reflect  that  the  recollection  of  what  had  taken 
place  would  be  unembittered,  not  only  by  the  silent  but  just  reproaches  of  his 
friend,  but  even  by  his  knowledge  of  what  had  occurred  betweem  himself 
and  his  fascinating  charge.  Their  secret,  he  thought,  was  their  own.  No 
human  being  could  attest  against  them. 

The  moments  flew  rapidly  by.  The  faint  approach  of  dawn  was  percept 
ibie,  and  it  was  necessary,  if  they  would  avoid  trouble,  to  depart  immediately. 

"  Gallant  Monk,  you  sleep  soundly,"  remarked  de  Boiscourt,  as  he 
gently  touched  the  shoulder  of  Abdailah.  •'  What  with  the  soothing  grape  of 
Cyprus,  and  the  fatigue  of  cutting  off  so  many  heads,  not  only  Saracen  but 
Christian,  you  have  well  wonyoui  claim  to  repose.  But  it  is  time  we  were 
stirring.     I  have  dispatched  Rudolph  to  your  tent  for  our  steeds." 

"  And  thy  infidel  par the  Saracen  lady,"  said  the  Monk,  correcting 

himself,  and  with  a  mild  and  searching  look. 

"  Is  doubtless  dressed  by  this  time  in  the  attire  left  her  by  Rudolph."  As 
he  uttered  these  brief  words,  de  Boiscourt's  cheek  Hushed  half  in  recollec- 
tion of  the  more  than  human  bliss  of  which  he  had  tasted,  half  in  shame  for 
the  enormity  of  which  he  was  conscious. 

He  again  approached,  and  drew  aside  the  curtain,  but  fearing  lest  some 
new  and  strong  demonstration  of  the  Saracen  lady's  feelings  should  be  over- 
heard by  the  Monk,  he  passed  not  beyond,  but  motioned  with  his  hand  fur 
her  to  come  forth. 

Pensive  and  thoughtful,  she  slowly  rose  to  obey  him.     The  iJaron  took 


30 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    Or'    ST.    JOHN. 


her  hand,  led  her  forth  and  to  the  side  of  his  friend.  Her  Mep  was  timid, 
for  8he  felt  all  a  woman's  modesty  in  appearing  in  the  garb  of  a  man,  amt 
the  consciousness  of  this  had  given  a  glow  to  her  check,  which  lent  oifBB 
greater  interest  to  her  appearance  than  before,  and  wlicn  in  her  own  costunin 
For  a  moment  or  two  the  Monk  looked  at  her  w^rionniy,  but  with  th;it  uuid 
benevolence  of  cxpresHion  which  so  usually  pcrvado<l  iiis  noble  fcaturisB. 
Once  hifi  lips  were  oj)ene<l  to  tell  her,  in  Mwtrisli.  of  his  Kiiowlcdije  <if  th« 
great  crime  she  had  committed,  and  gently  to  reprove  lu-r  for  it ;  but  tht-iw 
was  such  an  expression  of  subdued  sorrow  on  her  sweet  countenance*  even 
amid  all  the  rich  color  which  sufTusc*!  it,  that,  wcnsible  of  the  cause,  Jiiii 
unwilling  to  give  her  farther  pain,  now  the  past  was  witiiout  rectll,  he 
checked  the  impulse,  and  rising  from  his  seat,  replaced  his  helmet  and  to- 
sumcd  the  weapons  that  had  been  thiown  aside.  De  Boiseourt  followed  his 
example,  and  at  that  moment  the  low  tramping  of  horses'  feet  announced  the 
arrival  of  Rudolph. 

De  Boiseourt  was  the  first  to  mount,  when  Abdallah,  knowing  that  -j!I 
danger  to  himself  was  past,  and  feeling  moreover  a  partial  sentiment  of  pitji 
and    regret  for  one  wiio  had  been  so  crueHy  exposed  to  temptation,    pre- 
pared to  place  the  beautiful  Saracen  on  the  seat  she  had  occupied  the  piece- 
ding  evening.     She  remarked,   with  deep  gratific  ition,  this  seeming  desirw 
on  the  part  of  her  preserver.     It  waa  a  solace  to  her  oppressed  spirit,  and 
giving  way  to  the  tide  of  feeling  which  oppressed  her,  she  threw  her  arnia 
around  the  neck  of  Rudolph,  and  bestowed  upon  him  the  most  endearing  ca- 
resses.    The  poor  boy  shed  bitter  tears  as  the  Monk  raised  her  to  the  sail- 
dle,  and  when  they  had  departed  he  threw  himself  at  his  length  within  tho 
tent,  and  long  lay  there,  a  prey  to  feelings  in  which  the  painful  was  so  mixed 
up  with  the  jjleasurable,  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  which  predominated. 
As  the  little  parly  passed  the  tent  of  Abdallah,  the  latter  called  foitli  the 
attendants,  who  resumed  their  journey  as  on  the  preceding  day,  and,  in  tlie 
course  of  less  than  half  an  hour,  they  had  passed  the  uttermost  limits  of  llio 
Christian  camp.     About  mid-day,  clouds  of  dust  were  seen  in  the  distance, 
and  apparently  not  far  from  what  was  known  to  be  the  outer  line  of  ilie 
Moslem  encampment.      Soon   there  was   distinguished   a  troop   of  infidel 
cavalry  advancing  at  full  speed  towards  them.     Abdallah  took  a  white  .scarf 
from  beneath  his  coat  of  mail,  and  tied  it  to  the  end  of  his  lance,  then  de- 
siring de  Boiseourt  to  keep  behind  him,  he  waved  it  some  paces  in  advance 
of  his  little  party.     Seeing  the  flag,  and  knowing  it  to  be  a  sign  of  amity, 
the   leader   of  the   Turkish  troop  halted  his  men  when   about   a  hundred 
yards  from  Abdallah,  and  coming  forward  himself,  communicated  with  th»- 
latter  in  Moorish.     Satisfactory  explanations  were  soon  rendered.     In  tli« 
affair  of  the  preceding  day,  one  of  the  favorite  wives  of  Saladin  had  been  car- 
ried off  from  lier  tent,  near  the  outskirt  of  the  encampment,  with  tA-o  of  hfT 
attendants.     The  discovery  had  been  made  only  after  the  close  of  the  battle, 
and  detachments  had  been  out  all  night  in  pursuit  of  the  straggling  enemy 
into  whose  hands  it  was  supposed  they  had  fallen.    One  of  these  had  entered 
the  sycamore  wood,  when;  they  had  seen  the  bodies  of  the  decapit.at(Hl  war- 
riors of  de  Boiseourt,  but  no  evidence  of  those  of  whom  they  were  in  search. 
The  pursuit  had  been   tontinued  all   night,  and  the  party  now  encountered. 


TlIK    MONK    KNIOHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


31 


was  on  the  poim  ol'  roturniii|L',  disiilnted  at  their  failuro,  to  their  camp, 
when  they  Hiiddenly  <lewried  the  two  knights,  and  pailnped  towards  them  as 
has  been  shown. 

Many  and  warm  were  tht!  thanks  of  .  .n  Saracen  coinmunder,  wlicn 
Abdallah  had  detailed  to  liim  the  nuinner  in  which  the  wile  of  Saiadin  had 
been  rescued  trom  the  riililans  who  liad  carried  li(>r  off,  and  th(!  cause  of  her 
thus  appearing  in  tlte  disjruise  of  a  f  Ihristian  pagt;.  Quickly  lie  dismounted 
from  his  liiirh-ineltled  Arahian,  and  advanced  and  .sainted  licr  wnhthe  respect 
due  to  her  position,  'rin-  Moslem  c;\ptain  l(K)k  lier  from  the  protecting  arm 
of  De  Boiseourt,  and  placed  iicr  on  his  own  charger,  he  himself  walking  at 
her  side  until  he  had  nfjoined  his  parly.  The  knights,  with  heavy  iuid 
oppressed  feelings,  made  their  parting  olieisance,  and  then  turning  their 
chargers'  lieads,  slowly  and  in  silence  retraced  their  steps  to. the  Christian 
camp.         , 


CHAPTER    VII. 

In  order  that  the  lax  state  of  morals  among  the  Crusaders,  such  as  has 
been  partially  illustrated  in  the  preceding  pages,  may  be  more  distinctly 
comprehended  by  those  ignoriint  of  the  semi-barbarous  manners  of  the  times, 
it  may  not  be  irrelevant  to  devote  a  few  pages  to  the  condition  of  society,  as 
it  existed  both  in  Europe  and  in  Palestine,  during  the  eleventh  and  twelfth 
centuries.  The  picture  is  a  startling  one,  and  few  will  rise  from  the  perusal 
without  a  deep  sentiment  of  shame,  that  the  avowed  advancement  of  Chris- 
tianity should  have  been  prostituted  to  purposes  the  most  vile,  actions  more 
than  levelling  with  the  brutes  themselves.  Nay,  we  will  even  go  farther, 
and  pronounce  that  the  conduct  of  ninety-nine  out  of  every  hundred  of  the 
Crusaders  so  completely  unhumanized  their  nature,  that  the  only  marvel  is, 
how  the  Omnipotent  God  should  have  sullered  his  holy  name  and  will  to  be 
desecrated  by  their  fiendish  manner  of  enforcing  his  Gospel,  and  thus,  as  it 
were,  redticing  his  purity  and  overawing  majesty  to  tiio  mere  condition  of  a 
Juggernaut,  at  whose  bloody  shritie  whole  hecatombs  of  human  victims  were 
to  be  sacrificed. 

If  there  an!  men,  even  at  this  day,  who,  although  siurning  the  charge  of 
infidelity  with  generous  disdain,  have  d'fiiculty  in  believing  in  that  creed 
which  thf^  armed  masses  of  Chri.slendom  went  forth  to  propagate  with  fire 

and  sword,  and  which  was  not  even  then  ; nitted  to  prosper,  it  is  be<'ause 

of  the  obvious  truth,  that  such  agency  never  found  favor  with  the  Great  God 
of  the  Universe.  Had  it  ever  been  intended  that  the  one  faith  alone  should 
pervade  the;  world,  wlr.it  more  favorable  opportunity  than  was  then  aflbrded? 
Patience,  suflliring,  endurance,  piety,  humiliation,  in  the  proper  acceptation 
of  these  several  terms,  would  have  marked  the  progress  of  the  Christian 
arms,  ('hastily,  sobriety,  meelness,  would  have  been  their  watchwords, 
and    thus    the    after    progre.-*    of    Christianity    would    haye    been    assured. 


/J 


% 


? 


32 


THK    MONK    KNIOHT    OV    ST.    JOHN. 


/  'i  v;  ^ 


Posterity  would  Imv*-  bclievuvl  in  the  result  ;  iluiy  would  lu»c  sieon  in  it  the 
directing;  linger  (it'(iiod.  Tho  iiiiudH  ut' imtii  would  liuvu  Lniun  inipreitncd  with 
the  ))eaiity,  the  Huldiinity,  ;iiui  the  truth  of  :i  Hyxtein  wliich  whs  doonied  to 
be  worke<l  out  iliron^h  sueh  means, imd  (time.  Mtren^theninf;  und  consolidating 
the  structure,)  would  have  adored  und  elun^'  to  ii  jib  the  last  reeting-plucfl 
the  titrirkon,  yet  confiding  heart.  Dut  what  were  the  agencicH  actually 
euifiloyed  '  Suiterstitiou,  under  the  name  ol"  piety — liinaticism,  under  the 
sarli  of  reli}(ion — fire,  sword,  pillage,  hatred,  unchariiableuess,  revoltinj^ 
lust,  brutality — nil  the  horrid  |)assion8  that  »'ver  lowered  man  to  Iho  condition 
of  the  l)rute. 

VVc  are  not,  however,  of  the  number  ol  tliose  who  believe  that  the  crucltiea 
exercised  by  the  great  mas*  of  the  (Crusaders  over  th(!ir  Saracen  foes,  when- 
■ver  victory  I  overed  over  their  banners,  was  a  result  of  the  innate  prone- 
nesd  of  their  hearts  to  deeds  of  blood.  On  the  contrary,  we  believe  with 
those  who  have  entered  much  more  diffusely  into  the  subject,  that  the 
.•"heddin;:  of  Saracen  blood,  and  the  commission  of  all  manner  of  atrocities, 
w;is.  with  them,  an  imperative  duly,  and  that  ihey  imagined  it  to  be  the 
highest  service  they  could  render — the  most  acceptiible  homage  they  could 
yield  to  their  ('reator.  What  a  creed  '  And  what  a  conception //wy  must 
have  had  of  the  Deity  who  coulil  thus  .lavo  been  propitiate<l !  liul  this 
fanaticism  was  strongly  in  keeping  with  tMc  principle  that  had  led  them  forth 
to  endure  the  most  cruel  privation.  The  great  inconsistency  was  in  this, 
that  men  thu.s  imbued  at  the  outset  with  principles  of  self-denial,  should 
later,  in  moments  of  personal  suffering,  have  lost  sight  of-  all  the  firmness  of 
pur])ose  with  which  they  had  embarked  in  the  cause.  So  far  from  enduring 
with  Ibrtitude  those  privations  which  a  correct  appreciation  of  the  object  they 
ha<l  in  view  should  have  pointed  out  to  tliem  as  a  part  and  parcel  of  the 
thorny  path  they  had  vowed  to  travel  for  the  restoration  of  tl.r;  (Jrosa,  they 
sank  beneath  these  afli'-^iions  whenever  encountered ;  and,  in  a  diabolical 
spirit,  gave  themselves  up  tu  indulgences  and  vices  at  which  the  soul  of 
purity  recoiled.  What  but  the  acme  of  fanaticism  must  have  led  them  to 
believe  that  men  who  could  thus  wantonly  forego  their  better  natures,  and 
wallow  in  the  grossest  sensuality,  were  in  reality  the  chosen  agents  of  God. 
What  but  the  blindest  infatuation,  the  most  besotted  ignorance,  could  have 
sustained  them  in  the  belief  tliat  they  who  nourished  tiie  seeds  of  vice  and 
crime  in  their  hearts,  and  who  hesitated  not  to  outrage  humanity  by  ripping 
up  the  bellies  and  eati;;  the  flesh  of  their  enemies,  brutally  exhumed  from 
liu  i.  i^iaves,  rather  than  perish  of  a  hunger  which,  unappcased,  iiad  led  to 
the  martyrdom  they  pretended  to  covet,  could  expect  to  find  favor  in  the 
sight  of  the  All-wise. 

But  these  were  merely  the  progressive  evidences  of  the  madness  of  the 
undertaking.  The  result  was  not  more  inspiriting  or  confirmatory  of  the 
divine  character  of  their  mission.  After  losing  some  millions  of  men  and 
treri'^ure — cutting  some  millions  of  throats,  with  a  ferocity  no  tigers  could 
eiiiu.l.  and  indulging  in  every  abomination  of  rape  and  murder,  not  only  on 
their  Saracen  foes,  but  on  their  own  people — was  their  end  even  partially 
attained  '  Did  Cod  manifest  his  approbation  of  the  acts  of  these  lunatic  and 
wicked  h ;>rdes  f    Did  He  will  that  the  Cross,  even  v.lien  planted  on  the  walls 


t 


THK    MONK 


KNIiiM       OF    ST.    }0    H. 


33 


of  Jerusalem,  should  suporeede  fhn  P/re»c«nt '    Did  He  condes-  onfim 

*he  divinity  of  him  who  woa  called  hm  Son,  by  ronveyiiii'  m  ak.ibly  to 
t\\e  world,  in  thti  overthrow  of.  the  power  of  Mahomet,  ihin  '  i»  wrt«  ilv; 
true  Memiah,  h«)for<>  whom  all  men  wore  to  b^-nd  th»!  kne«^  W'M  tm  Not 
only  Joriimili'm  jnd  the  wholn  of  PaleHtme  wa8  coiiquored,  it  ..^  ir.u  .  biii 
only  that  greater  i^hame  might  come  upon  the  cauae  of  Christ,  by  its  final 
forced  relinquishment.  U  there  no  evident  m  thi.s'  There  is.  Had  it 
been  the  will  of  the  MoHt  High  tlul  the  doctrine.s  of  the  (Jroapel  should 
iTOvern  the  universe,  the  time,  cprtaiiily,  would  have  been  then.  F'ight  cen- 
tiiriea  have  roHod  by  sinoe  that  erusade  wa.-*  commenced.  F»  there  one 
MuHHulman  the  loss^  But  this  la  apart  from  the  moraln  of  those  ('hristian 
jmoplo,  who  were  so  anxioiiH,  liko  the  (jhurchmRn  of  the  present  day,  to 
teach  what  they  so  inUiHercutly  practice 

That  the  grossest  immorality  should  have  prevailed  m  Europe,  will  readily 
enough  bo  understood  by  thnse  who  are  at  all  conversant  with  the  habits  of 
every  class  of  that  society,  of  which  it  haa  been  recorded: — "The  clergy 
were  as  licontioua  as  the  laity.  Tho  chiefs  as  immoral  as  the  people."  Hut 
that  women,  many  of  them  of  high  social  degree,  should  have  abandone'l 
themselves  to  these  excesses,  with  the  mere  brutal  impulse  of  the  animal, 
while  absent  on  a  pilgrimage,  which  it  might  have  been  imagined  would 
have  guarded  them  in  the  hour  of  severest  trial,  is  one  of  those  paradoxes 
and  contradictions  in  human  naturu,  which  strike  the  mind  not  only  with 
astonishment  but  with  humiliation.  Sharing  in  the  first  instance  that  spirit 
of  fanaticism  whidi  was  so  deeply  imbued  in  the  men,  nothing  could  deter 
them  from  encountering,  in  an  equal  degree,  the  hardships,  privations,  and 
vicissitudes  of  the  long  journey  to  Palestine.  Ail  were  animated  by  the 
same  zeul — the  same  fervent  belief  that  the  Holy  Sepulchre  was  the  goal  to 
which  they  were  to  bend  tht-ir  steps,  there  to  receive  the  reward  of  all  their 
sufferings  at  ihe  foot  of  the  Cross.  And  yet,  what  does  history  relate  of 
these  people,  who,  instead  of  enduring  with  humility,  and  in  sackcloth,  aud 
ashes,  the  trials  with  which  God  had  thought  proper  to  visit  them,  could 
thus  guiltily  conduct  themselves  ^ 

"  All  the  distresses  of  the  Crusaders,"  says  a  modern  auther,*  borrowing 
from  ancient  writers,  and  in  reference  to  their  sutTerings  at  Antioch,  "  were 
nothing  before  the  walls  compared  with  the  horrors  they  suffered  now  that 
they  wen;  in  possession  of  the  city.  Misery  levelled  all  natural  as  well  as 
artificial  distinctions.  The  courage  of  the  warrior — the  pride  of  the  noble- 
,p;i„ — the  dignified  virtue  of  the  matron,  and  the  retired  bashfulness  of  the 
maid — all  were  reduced  to  the  level  of  the  ignoble  and  vicious,  by  the  crav- 
ings of  unsatisfied  and  increasing  hunger." 

Such  was  the  future — the  painful,  humiliating  future  ;  and  yet  these  poor, 
misguided  fanatics,  religiously  believed  that  the  merciful  God  of  all  Nature 
was  thus  leading  them  to  conquest !  What  strange  infatuation '  What 
blind  credulity ! 

Then  again,  shortly  after  their  liberation  from  this  scourge,    "Discord 


m 


*  MiUi. 


# 


yTl>'"»- 


li  .."IIJI1 


'-«*••  i-*^ 


84 


THE   MONK    KNIOHT   OF   8T.    JOHN. 


prevailed  amongf  the  prince*,  and  they  evtiii  aeaitted  their  people  in  rapine 
uful  thcf'..  Public  justice  did  not  restrain  private  injury,  and  tlie  will  of 
every  man  was  his  law."  Later,  at  the  siege  of  Murra,  "they  were  soon 
ri'dni'cd  Id  thfir  old  resources  of  dog'H  flesh,  and  hutnaii  carcasses.  Tiicy 
broke  0{>en  the  tombs  of  the  Mussulmans,  ripped  up  the  bellies  of  the  d«Ml 
for  gold,  and  then  dressed  and  eat  the  fragments  of  flesh." 

Nay.  even  before  the  walln  of  Jerusalem,  when  it  miglit  have  been  ima- 
gined the  religiouh  fanaticism  of  their  hearts  would  have  taught  ihont  virtuo 
and  restraint,  "  misery."  says  the  same  writer,  "  had  produced  disorder  and 
crime,  and  the  clergy  complained  that  in  the  short  space  of  a  month,  the 
character  of  the  f-hristian  soldier  before  .lerusaleip  had  become  as  immoral 
as  it  had  been  during  the  long  and  ]iainful  siege  of  Antioch.  Superstition 
wan  u»  active  as  vice.  At  the  moment  when,  during  a  terrible  assault,  all 
appeared  lost,  a  knight  was  seen  on  Mount  Olivet  waving  his  glittering 
fliield  as  a  sign  to  the  soldiers  that  they  should  rally  and  return  to  the 
charge.  (.Jodfrey*  and  Eustace  cried  to  the  army  that  St,  George  was  come 
to  tlieir  succor.  The  languishing  spirit  of  enthusiasm  was  roused,  and  the 
Crusaders  returned  to  the  battle  with  pristine  animation.  Fatigue  and  disa- 
bility vanished  ;  the  weary  and  the  wounded  were  no  longer  distinguishable 
from  the  vigorous  and  activo  :  the  princes,  the  columns  of  the  army,  led  the 
way,  and  their  example  awoke  the  most  timid  to  gallant  and  noble  daring. 
Nor  were  the  women  to  be  restrained  from  the  fight :  they  were  everywhere 
to  be  seen  supporting  and  relieving  their  fainting  friends.  In  the  space  of 
an  hour  the  barbacaii  was  broken  down,  and  Godfrey's  tower  rested  against 
the  iimer  wall.  Changing  the  duties  of  the  general  for  those  of  the  soldier, 
the  Duke  of  Lorraine  fought  with  his  bow.  At  the  hour  when  the  Saviour 
of  the  world  had  been  crucified,  a  soldier,  named  Latoldus  of  Tournay,  leap- 
ed upon  the  fortification  ;  his  brother  Englebert  followed,  and  Godfrey  was 
the  third  Christian  who  stood  as  a  conqueror  on  the  ramparts  of  Jerusalem. 
The  glorious  ensign  of  the  Cross  streamed  from  its  walls.  The  Mussulmans 
fought  fur  awhile,  and  then  fled  to  their  temDles,and  submitted  their  necks  to 
slaughter.  Such  was  the  carnage  in  the  mosque  of  Omar,  that  the  muti- 
lated carcases  were  hurried  by  the  torrents  of  blood  into  the  court ;  dissevered 
arinci  and  hands  floated  into  the  current  that  carried  them  into  contact  with 
bodies  to  which  they  had  not  belonged.  Ten  thousand  people  were  mur- 
dered in  this  sanctuary.  It  was  not  only  the  headless  and  lacerated  trunks 
which  shocked  the  sight,  but  the  figures  of  the  victors  themselves  reeking 
with  the  blood  of  their  slaughtered  enemies.  No  place  of  refuge  remained 
to  the  vanquished,  so  indiscriminately  did  the  insatiable  fanaticism  of  the 
conquerors  disregard  both  .supplication  and  resistance.  Some  were  slain, 
i^ome  were  tlirown  from  ilie  tops  of  churches  and  the  citadel.  The  syna- 
pogucs  were  set  on  fire,  and  the  Jews  perished  in  the  flames." 

Thus  it  will  be  seen  that,  led  away  by  their  frantic  etilhusiasm,  the  Chris- 
tian women  were  foremo.st  in  these  scenes  of  blood.  The  historians  of  that 
epoch  do  not  say  whether  they  bore  an  active  part  in  the  murder  of  the  un- 


Xv 


Th«  V\Ae  de  Bouillun. 


1 


% 


# 


« 


THK    MONK    KNIIJHT    <iK    sT.    /OHN. 


3S 


ilu 


hnppy  SuractMiH,  iihnr  the  holy  nty  had  been  taken,  but  it  iitJiHicuh  tn  divest 
the  iiiiiid  III  tho  boli*>|',  that  they  v\liii  hud  |ir*'vi(iuHly  iiiud«m((|uaintuii<'i>  vviili 
vic-o  111  ail  itH  pliUHiH,  would  i'e«'l  little  citiriiiuhrliiin  in  wiiHliiiiK  away  thuir 
aiiiM  in  ihu  hlotid  of  the  infidel,  whoan  Hiicntiue  they  d  uicd  wiiiild  bo  moHt 
arreptKble  to  (Jod.  Very  diffi'rt'iit  wa»  ihf  ronduut  of  he  ladi»«  ol'  Uoeinend'H 
caiiip,  who,  aci'oi'diii^r  to  Allifrt  ot  Aix,  mi  wein^  i.ic  uiii^eiiHiii^  I'liry  with 
which  the  'I'urka  were  deuliiiK  d*>alh  to  all  a^tett,  and  both  t'nxM,  at  the  terri- 
ble Imttle  of  Doriilwuiii,  i;I(iIIumI  theiiiHf  Ivch  in  tlitiir  niont  In  oming  ^arnientB, 
and  8trov(!  to  diHplay  tlmir  chariiiM  lo  the  heot  advantage,  liir  the  piir|ioM<  of 
ubtaiiiiiiK  the  durance  of  the  liart'iii  rather  than  tht;  i^rave.    Ueniiible  women  ! 

Ill  order  to  show  that  the  iiiHtitutiini  of  chivalry  itttelf  hud  a  favorable 
influence  on  society,  and  in  fXtir|)Htiii^r  the  prevailing;  ^rrosoncHH  of  the  a|;e,  we 
cannot  do  better  than  (|uote  the  ooiudiidin^  reiiiarkti  of  another  hi^rhly  |iu|iular 
and  indefatigable  writer,  who  iH  not  lightly  read  in  the  luMtory  and  habit!!  of 
the  middle  ageu. 

"  Remarking  these  inHtanccH,"  he  saya,  in  ullusion  to  the  exemplary  con- 
duct of  the  order  in  Kiiropc,  "  and  seeing  what  tht.>  s|)irit  of  chivalry  could 
produce  in  ila  perfection,  we  may  judge  what  the  society  of  tli;it  day  would 
have  been  without  it:  wc  may  trace  truly  the  etiect  it  had  in  civilizing  the 
world,  and  we  may  comprehend  the  noble  legacy  it  left  to  after  years.  Had 
chivalry  not  existed,  all  the  vices  which  we  behold  in  thai  period  of  the 
world's  history  would  have  been  immensely  increased  ;  for  there  would  have 
been  no  counteracting  excitement.  The  immoralitv  of  those  times  would 
have  l)een  a  thousand  degrees  more  gross,  tor  passion  would  have  wanted 
the  only  principle  of  refinement :  the  ferocity  of  the  brave  would  have  shown 
itself  in  darker  scenes  of  bloodshed,  for  no  courtesy  would  have  tempered  it 
with  gentleness.  .  .  . 

"  Hecause  knights  were  superstitious,  it  was  supposed  that  superstition 
was  a  part  of  knighthood  ;  but  this  was  not  the  case.  I'he  tendency  of  the 
order  was  to  purify  and  refine,  and  the  civilization  thereby  given  to  the 
world  ill  general  ultimately  produced  its  ellect,  in  doing  away  superstition. 
The  libertinism  of  society  in  the  Middle  Ages  has  also  been  wrongly  attributed 
to  knighthood,  and  thus  the  most  beneficial  institutions  are  too  often  con- 
founded with  the  vices  that  spring  up  around  them. 

"  In  common  with  all  human  institutions, chivalry  presents  anew  aspect  in 
every  page  of  the  book  of  history.  .Sometimes  it  is  severe  and  stern — some- 
times light  and  gay — but  the  qualities  ol  valor,  courtesy,  and  enthusiasm, 
shine  out  at  every  period  of  its  existence."' 

And  concluding  our  chapter  with  this  somewhat  iimlihued  extract  from  the 
'jifted  author  of  the  History  of  Chivalry,*  we  resume  our  narrative. 


'  JHinoa. 


'! 


J. 


Vv       » 


0 


« 


w«-<^^if%a^- 


96 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF   ST.    JOHN. 


CHAPTER    Vlll. 


At  the  period  at  which  the  events  recorded  in  the  preceding  chapters  took 
place,  Jerusalem  had  heen  in  possession  of  the  f -rusaders  upwards  of  eighty 
years.  Godfrey  de  Bouillon,  one  of  the  mo.st  victorious  of  the  Christian 
knights,  had.  immediately  after  its  capture,  been,  by  general  .icclamation, 
chosen  as  its  king  ;  but  he  did  not  survive  his  elevation  to  this  high  dignity 
more  than  a  year.  All  sorts  of  infamy  had,  in  the  meantime,  been  perpe- 
trated by  the  various  chiefs  of  the  invading  crosses,  who  had  partitioned 
among  themselves  the  fairer  fields  of  Palestine,  until  their  acts  of  aggression 
and  injustice  became  the  means  of  waking  up  the  slumbering  energies  of  the 
yet  untiredSaladin,  who,  seized  with  a  holy  zeal,  and  guided  by  an  honorable 
ambition,  re.solved  to  accomplish  no  le.ss  an  undertaking  than  the  re-conqne.st 
of  the  disputed  city,  which  he  was  now  rapidly  approaching. 

The  day  following  that  on  which  de  Boiscourt  and  the  Monk  Knight  had 
80  warmly  di.scussed  the  surpassing  l)eauty.  and  the  opening  iiiterc.M  in  the 
latter  of  the  I.ady  Ernestina,  was  that  fixed  upon  for  the  attack  of  the  Saracen 
masses  then  laying  siege  to  Tiberias,  near  .Terusalem,  and  composed  of  fifty 
tliousand  horse,  and  nearly  two  hundred  thousand  fooot. 

"  What  hoi  Rudolph  "'  exclaimed  the  happy  Knight,  springing  from  his 
couch,  fully  an  liour  before  dawn.  "  T'p,  uj),  and  1)0  doing  '  There  is  brave 
work  cut  out  for  us  this  day,  and  the  sluggard  must  not  lose  his  share  of  the 
glory.  But  fill  me  first  a  full  goblet  of  my  favorite  Cyprus  wine,  and  then 
for  my  armor.  .Terusalem,  the  Holy  City,  won  by  the  good  swords  and 
battle-axes  of  Godfrey,  of  Eustace,  and  of  Baldwin,  must  be  saved  thi«  day. 
Art  ready  for  such  a  glorious  fight,  boy?" 

"  Wiierever  my  lord  leads,  there  Rudolph  shall  surely  follow,  even  if  it 
b«i  unto  the  tent  of  Saladin  him.self."  replied  the  youth,  rising  <]uickly.  and 
trimming  the  dull  and  nearly  wasted  lamp  ;  "  but  had  I  my  choice,"'  he  added 
archly.  "  when  once  there,  I  should  not  be  sorry  to  be  detained  a  temporary 
prisoner,  and  lM)und  with  silken  cords,  by  our,  at  least,  of  his  seraglio." 

"Ah,  you  young  epicure  I  Better  indeed  is  that  .slight  frame  fitted  «or 
the  blandishments  of  Venus,  than  the  more  iron  duties  of  Mar».  But  thai 
reminds  me — you  say  that  wherever  I  lead,  you  will  follow,  flave  T  not,  in 
my  turn,  followed  where  you  have  led  '  Nay,  answer  me,  dear  boy.  In 
me  you  will  fiiul  no  jealous  rival.  Ah  I  never  mind — that  burning  blush 
suffii-iently  t«>lls  the  tale." 

The  brow  of  the  boy  was  suffused  with  crimson,  as  lowering  his  beautiful 
eyes,  he  handed  the  wine  without  making  any  audible  reply  to  the  question 
of  his  Lord. 

"  Here  is  to  your  pretty  Saracen  mother,  and  to  my  own  adored  Emea- 
tina,"  continued  the  Knight,  as  he  drained  off  the  goblet  to  within  an  inch  or 
two  of  the  bottom,  and  then  offered  it  to  the  page.  '•  Drink  to  them  both, 
dear  Rudolph  ;  it  may  be  the  last  time  we  shall  pledge  them  in  this  life." 

"  All  honor  to  the  dear  I>ady  Ernestina,  and  every  blessing  on  the  sweet 
mother  you  have  given  me,"  said  the  youth,  as,  with  still  flushed  cheek  anJ 


,*• 


THi:    Mii\K     rtNiGHT    Of    ST.    JOHN. 


37 


dilating  eye,  he  tiiiislifd  ilio  (.'ontcnii?  ol  the  jroblet.  .Ah,  that  she  were, 
indeed,  my  niothei  "' 

"  What  I  ail  iiitidel  lor  your  mother,  lludolph  !'  exclaimed  the  Knight. 

"  Christian  or  infidel,  what  matter^"  murmured  the  boy.  "  Is  she  not, 
my  lord,  the  beautiful  creation  of  the  same  Cud'  Alas!  1  have  never 
known  a  motiier'siove — I  never  was  pillowed  on  a  mother's  bosom  until " 

"  1  understand  you,"  interrupted  the  Knight,  gently  pressing  his  hand. 
"  Rudolph,  henceforth  you  are  my  younger  brother  in  love,  but  now,  further 
time  to  speak  of  this  is  denied.     Quick — my  armor." 

"  I  obey,""  said  the  boy,  with  deep  and  fervent  expression  ;  "  and  may  that 
armor  guard  from  all  liarm,  the  noblest — pardon  me,  my  lord,  I  must  speak 
it  out,  or  my  bosom  will  burst — the  most  generous  heart  that  ever  beat  under 
a  warrior's  corselet.' 

The  Barnn  caught  and  pressed  him  to  his  heart,  imprinted  a  kiss  on  his 
hot  but  open  brow,  and  then  bade  him  to  his  task. 

In  a  few  moments,  both  were  equipped.  The  armor  of  the  Knigiit  con- 
sisted of  a  hauberk  covering  the  whole  of  his  person.  It  was  of  double  chain 
mail,  and  formed  of  a  hood-piece  connected  with  a  jacket  with  sleeves,  and 
terminating  in  breeches,  stockings,  and  shoes.  To  these,  were  added  gaunt- 
lets, all  of  ti.e  same  material.  His  head  was  moreover  covered  with  the 
skull-cap  tisually  worn  by  the  knights  before  entering  into  battle.  His  war 
helmet  was  of  burnished  scales,  and  ornamented  with  a  magnificent  crest, 
on  which  were  emblazoned  the  baronial  arms.  A  surcoat  of  costly  fur,  on 
which  also  appeared  the  arms  of  his  family,  was  thrown  loosely  over  his 
closely-fitting  hauberk,  thus  depriving  the  figure  of  the  almost  spectre-like 
appearance  otherwise  given  to  it  by  the  chain  mail. 

"  Go,  Rudolph,  to  the  tent  of  the  Monk,"  enjoined  the  Baron,  when  the 
page,  after  donning  his  own  light  armor,  had  gathered  together  the  Knight's 
helmet,  battle-axe,  banner  and  shield  "  bid  him  here  if  he  has  time,  and  is 
already  equipped." 

Soon  after  the  boy  had  departed  on  his  mission,  the  trampling  of  steeds 
was  heard,  and  as  the  Baron  moved  forward,  he  met  at  the  entrance  one  of 
his  men-at-arms,  fully  equipped,  and  leading  his  war-horse,  as  well  as 
the  lighter  gelding  of  Rudolph.  He  who  generally  acted  as  his  groom, 
announced  that  the  camp  was  already  in  motion,  and  the  retainers  of  the 
young  French  knight  forming  even  then  their  battle-array,  which  only  the 
presence  of  their  leader  was  wanting  to  complete. 

"Good,  good,  Coeur-de-Fer,"  remarked  the  Baron,  "you  fellows  are 
always  anxious  to  be  the  first  in  a  fight,  but  I  find  no  such  haste  to  get  out 
of  it;"  then  patting  the  neck  of  his  battle-steed,  who,  seemingly  conscious 
of  the  duty  required  of  him,  pricked  his  ears,  pawed  the  earth,  and  neighed 
most  lustily — "Hast  fed  them  well,  Coeur-de-Fer?  They  will  require  all 
they  can  get  before  night- fall,  or  much  I  mistake  the  character  of  the  leader 
against  whom  we  wield  our  battle-axes  this  day." 

"Diantre!  true  enough,  most  noble  Knight,"  returned  the  man.  "The 
Infidels  are  in  clouds,  they  say,  under  the  very  walls  of  Tiberias,  and  as 
Monsigneur  states,  we  shall  have  hot  work  enough  before  the  dew  falls 
:i>-:iin,  to  moisten  the  lips  of  both  horses  and  men  :  but  you  have  only  to  order 


'  I  In 


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THK    MOVK    KMGHT    OV    r-,T.    JOHN. 


i 


'I 


(^oeur-de-Fer  to  dn  :i  lliiii;i  and  it  is  fioiio.  The  horses  have  been  well  ted, 
lor  luckily  il  is  not  now,  an  in  the  early  days,  when  our  aiieestora  came  to 
Palestine.  Then  knights  were  oblitjed  to  oat  their  own  chargers — the  brave 
animals  thai  had  carried  them  throunh  many  a  hard  light,  to  prevert  them- 
selves iVom  starving,  and  were  made  to  look  contemptilile  in  the  (syes  of  the 
enemy,  by  having  their  baggage  carried  on  the  back-s  of  dogs  and  pigs. 
Pardieu !  the  followers  of  the  cross  live  more  luxuriously  now.  Saladin, 
that  scourge  who  threatens  the  Holy  City,  has  not  yet  been  long  enough  in 
arms  to  put  \is  to  that  stretch." 

This  long  speech,  rather  unusual  at  that  period,  in  its  familiarity  of  tone, 
but  which  the  generous  Knight  did  not,  from  his  regard  for  the  man,  whom 
he  considered  one  of  the  most  attached  and  faithful  of  his  followers,  like  to 
frown  down,  was  now  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  Rudolph,  who,  taking 
charge  of  the  fiery  and  well  conditioned  steeds,  afforded  Coeur-de-Fer  no  fur- 
ther excuse  for  remaining.  He  accordingly  departed  to  rejoin  the  body  of  the 
force. 

"  Well,  Rudolph,  what  says  Abdallah '"  asked  the  young  French  Baron 
as  they  prepared  to  mount.  *'  Will  he  be  here  anon,  or  do  we  lake  him  up 
on  our  way  to  the  advance,  where  I  know  his  comrades,  the  valiant 
Knights  of  St.  John,  closely  watch  the  motions  of  Saladin  and  his  host'" 

"  The  Monk  Abdallah,  my  lord,  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  encampment, 
where  he  rested  last  night.  He  set  forth  alone  and  armed,  long  before  the 
dawn,  and  has,  doubtless,  now  gained  the  position  occupied  by  the  Knights 
of  St.  John.  They  who  bore  me  the.se  tidings,  state  that  us  soon  as  he  seated 
himself  in  his  saddle,  he  buried  his  long  and  heavy  spurs  in  the  flanks  of  his 
noble  charger,  and  passed  out  of  the  encampment  with  the  rapidity  of  the 
wind.'" 

"Indeed  !"  said  deBoiscourt,  whose  countenance  had  been  gradually  falling 
during  this  short  recital,  for  he  really  felt  deep  disappointment  at  his  heart ; 
"  this  is  strange — but  it  is  well,  Rudolph,  that  you  have  stated  this  before 
leaving  the  tent.  Another  goblet — a  full  goblet  of  Cyprus  wine :  it  will 
drown  thought,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  think  to-day." 

Rudoli)h,  sad  himself,  because  he  saw  that  the  unannounced  departure  of 
the  Monk-Knight  had  given  pain,  he  knew  not  wherefore,  to  his  noble  mas- 
ter, silently  laid  down  the  arms  he  was  about  to  gird  about  him,  and  opened 
and  offered  the  wine.  The  Baron  drained  its  contents  at  a  draught,  and  as. 
he  did  so,  his  charger  whinnying,  half  turned  his  head,  and  cast  his  eye  upon 
the  sparkling  licjuid,  as  if  anxious  to  share  it  with  him. 

"  By  the  Saints  I  a  good  thought,"  exclaimed  the  Knight,  whose  annoy- 
ance had  somewhat  excited  him  :  "  another  flask,  dear  Rudolph.  Both 
horse  and  rider  must  outdo  themselves  this  day.  There — that  will  do.  Hold 
Beloeil  steadily  by  the  head,  while  I  cause  him  to  revel  in  the  luxury  of  the 
gods  ;  but  stay— you  are  not  tall  enough,  boy.  Give  me  the  bridle,  and  I 
myself  will  do  it." 

Seizing  the  mouthpiece  with  his  left  hand,  he  held  up  the  head  of  the 
horse  with  such  a  strong  grasp,  that  he  easily  introduced  into  his  throat  the 
neck  of  the  flask,  which  was  nearly  emptied  before  he  withdrew  it.  The 
effect  was  soon  evident — the  eye  of  the  glossy  black  steed  beamed  with  in- 


.'!■/, 


# 


.•4- 
*  '. 
\  •■:. 


t-J**#- 


jr! 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN'. 


39 


creased  fire,  and  he  champed  his  bit,  and  pawed  with  a  restleaaness  he  had 
never  before  manifested. 

Rudolph,  in  the  meanwhile,  who  seldom  anticipated  a  hard  day's  work 
without  making  due  preparation  for  contingencies,  thrust  into  one  of  two  pairs 
of  small  panniers  with  which  the  cruppers  of  his  saddle  was  provided,  a  couple 
of  bottles  of  the  same  wine  emptied  into  tin  flasks  made  for  the  purpose,  and 
well  stopped  up ;  and  into  the  other,  the  morning  food,  of  which  the  Baron 
had  not  yet  tasted.  This  done,  he  held  the  bridle  of  the  Knight's  charger 
until  he  mounted,  and  then  vaulting  lightly  into  his  own  saddle,  rode  into  the 
tent,  and  took  from  a  table  near  the  entrance,  on  which  they  lay,  the  spare 
armor  and  weapons,  and  escutcheon  of  the  Lord  of  Auvergne.  They  then 
pursued  their  way  to  the  heart  of  the  encampment,  where  his  retainers — 
a  numerous,  bold,  and  imposing  force — were  already  drawn  up  as  Coeur-de-Fer , 
had  stated.  The  order  to  march  was  soon  afterwards  given,  and  the  whole 
of  the  Christian  force  moved  forward  with  alacrity,  under  their  several  ban- 
ners to  encounter  their  hated  enemies,  then  waiting  for  them  near  the  lake 
of  Tiberias. 

The  young  Baron  de  Boiscourt,  followed  by  the  gentle  Rudolph,  whom 
we  have  seen  he  loved  with  exceeding  tenderness,  even  while  compelled 
by  the  customs  of  the  order  to  treat  him  with  a  certain  reserve  in  public,  rode 
some  yards  in  advance  of  his  inferior  knights,  who,  in  their  turn,  took  the 
lead  of  the  men-at-arms.  His  charger,  inspirited  by  the  unusual  Are  that  had 
been  communicated  to  his  blood,  was  with  difficulty  restrained  by  the  accus- 
tomed hand  of  his  rider,  and  manifested  his  impatience  by  spurning  far  behind 
him,  the  parched  and  sandy  earth  which  annoyed  his  fetlocks  with  its  heat,  even 
at  that  early  hour.  The  occupation  thus  afforded  to  de  Boiscourt,  in  a  measure 
distracted  his  mind  from  the  unpleasant  reflections  to  which  the  tidings  of 
Abdallah's  strange  and  unexplained  disappearance  had  given  rise,  but  finally 
they  forced  themselves  upon  him  with  a  pertinacity  no  outward  influence 
could  prevent,  while  the  additional  wine  he  had  taken,  with  a  view  to  drown 
recollection,  seemed  to  have  produced  the  contrary  effect  of  rendering  it  more 
vivid  and  distinct.  In  spite  of  his  efforts  to  rally  his  spirits  and  treat 
the  matter  lightly,  his  heart  was  deeply  afflicted,  for  he  feared  that  a  senti- 
ment inimical  to  the  close  friendship  which  had  hitherto  existed  between 
them,  and  arising  from  their  conversation  of  the  preceding  day,  had  been  the 
cause  of  his  singular  conduct.  He  was  well  aware  of  the  holiness  and 
purity  of  life  which  the  Monk  had  constantly  preserved  in  the  midst  of  the 
strongest  temptations  by  which  the  flesh  could  be  beset ;  and  it  was  there- 
fore natural  to  infer  that  his  mind  would  recoil  from  further  association 
with  one  who,  instead  of  fortifying  him  in  his  virtuous  resolution,  had  used 
80  much  diligence  to  undermine  it. 

The  Baron  was  deeply  grieved  at  this,  not  through  any  wrong  he  himself 
found  in  what  he  had  done,  but  because  of  its  efl^ct  upon  him  he  so  well 
loved,  and  that  at  a  moment  when  he  had  believed  him  to  have  been  irresist- 
ibly won  to  his  dearest  hopes.  Nor  must  the  reader  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tuiy  feel  surprised  at  the  sentiments  which  governed  the  heart  of  civilized 
man  in  the  twelfth.  The  looseness  of  moral  feeling — the  indulgence  of  every 
appetite  peculiar  to  that  age,  have  already  been  alluded  to  ;  so  much  so,  in- 


'^'^^.': 


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40 


THE   MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


deed,  that  it  has  been  aaeerted  by  the  oW  chroniclere  "  that  there  wae  not  one 
chaste  woman  in  Palestine,"  and  that,  in  the  belter  circles  of  society,  •*  it 
was  scarcely  possible  for  a  child  tu  know  its  own  father,  neither  was  it  ex- 
pected of  him."  No  wonder,  then,  that  amid  such  universal  corruption,  a 
generous  and  ardent  nature,  like  that  of  de  Boiscourt,  should  seek  indulgence, 
not  in  the  groesness  of  sensuality  which  governed  the  mass,  but  in  that  re- 
fined and  tender  voluptuousness  which  lives  in  the  soul  rather  than  in  the 
senses.  He  loved,  he  adored  his  Ernestina,  with  all  the  intensity  of  his 
glowing  heart.  He  regarded  Abdallah  with  a  feeling  that  rose  far  above 
friendship ;  he  looked  upon  him  as  something  more  than  human  ;  and  no  serf 
of  his  own  flowery  land  ever  yielded  up  tlie  person  of  his  bride  to  the  Lord 
of  the  domain,  with  one-thousandth  part  of  the  joy  with  which  he  would 
have  warmed  the  soul  of  the  majestic  Monk  towards  his  beautiful  beloved. 
His  whole  care,  therefore,  was  to  instil,  and  feed  in  each  an  overwhelming 
passion  for  the  other.  Only  the  evening  before,  he  had  been  happy  in  the 
thought  of  his  eventual  sucC/Css — for  the  agitation  shown  by  the  Monk — the 
fiery  language  he  had  used — the  final  determination  he  had  expressed,  seemed 
to  announce  the  existence  of  a  passion  nursed  in  solitude,  which  no  consider- 
ation, human  or  priestly,  could  restrain  from  fulfilment.  Where  vice  was 
80  {H-evalent,  mere  libertinism  so  tolerated,  there  could  be  neither  heart  nor 
feeling  to  lend  to  passion  that  which  alone  could  dignify  and  render  it  what 
it  is — the  greatest  gift — the  most  exquisite  proof  of  the  boundless  love  of  the 
great  God  of  the  Universe. 

De  Boiscourt  was  not  a  mere  sensualist,  iu  llie  vulgar  acceptation  of  the 
term.  Women,  whose  lives  were  grossly  dis.soiute  from  habit — and  there 
were  but  few  at  that  day  who  were  not — could  yield  him  no  pleasure  in 
their  embrace  ;  and  although  we  have  seen  him  abandoned  to  the  fullest  im- 
petuosity of  passionate  endearment  while  exposed  tu  the  seductive  beauty  of 
the  captive  Saracen,  there  was  mingled  in  his  devotion  to  her  a  delicacy,  an 
earnestness  and  warmth  of  feeling,  which  he  had  never  known  in  the  arms 
of  any  but  his  own  Ernestina.  He  was,  in  act,  perhaps  one  of  the  strictest 
of  the  Knights  of  the  Holy  Land — the  Templars  and  the  Order  of  St.  John 
always  excepted  ;  but  in  proportion  as  he  was  insensible  to  the  grosser  ap- 
petites of  the  animal,  he  yielded  up  his  soul  to  the  most  enchanting  images 
of  what  passion  might,  and  what  his  peculiar  creed  told  him  it  should  be. 
Regarding  his  Ernestina  and  Abdallah  as  he  did,  his  imagination  revelled  in 
the  thought  of  what  they  might  be  to  each  other,  and  that  without,  in  the 
slightest  degree,  impairing  the  fervor  of  love  of  the  one,  or  the  warmth  and 
sincerity  of  friendship  of  the  other,  for  hims<!lf.  y\nd  thus  satisfied,  for  he 
would  not  have  given  up  the  treasure  of  her  heart's  iiflection  for  worlds — 
thus  assured  that  th<5  happiness  of  the  holy  Monk  would  be  a  source  of  no 
sorrow  to  himself,  but  rather  that  the  bond,  which  united  them  all,  would 
be  strengthened  into  unoeasing  durability  by  the  gratification  and  outpour- 
ing of  the  fulness  of  their  hearts,  he  sought  to  infuse  into  the  breast  of  each 
a  fierce  and  unspoken  passion  for  the  other.  With  a  burning  pen,  and  in 
the  quaint  language  of  the  day,  he  had  first  addressed  himself  to  his  wife. 
He  had  described,  in  glowing  terms,  all  the  circumstances  connected  with 
his  first  meeting  with  Abdallah,  and  had  so  conUived  to  awaken  her  interest 


•Higjt 


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'^-Zjsttsam 


:»^ 


% 


THE   MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


41 


by  contrasting  his  holy  and  strict  life,  with  the  extraordinary  physical  attri- 
butes of  the  man,  and  the  indomitable  heroism  uf  the  warrior,  that  many  and 
many  a  lone  night  had  she  passed,  in  the  dull  chateau  of  Auvergne,  in  think- 
ing, as  she  had  artlessly  confessed,  of  the  noble  Monk  Knight,  quite  as  much 
as  of  her  wedded  lord — her  generous  and  confiding  husband.  The  innate,  and 
for  the  age,  remarkable  modesty  of  her  own  pure  though  imaginative  nature, 
had  prevented  her  from  answering,  in  the  impassioned  language  used  by  him- 
self;  but  de  Boiscourt  could  trace  in  her  letters  that  the  sentiment,  he  so 
much  sought  to  instil,  was  fast  diffusing  itself  throughout  her  being,  and 
that  her  expanding  heart  was  rapidly  becoming  ample  enough  to  admit  into 
its  warmest  recesses,  the  image  of  a  lover  second  to  himself.  What  Ros- 
seau  has  since  been,  his  noble  countryman,  dc  Boiscourt,  then  was ;  but 
more  frank,  more  ardent,  more  generous,  more  liberal  and  self-immolating, 
where  the  happiness  of  those  he  loved  required  the  more  than  human  sacri- 
fice of  self.  And  yet,  with  him  it  was  no  sacrifice.  It  would  rather  have 
been  a  sacrifice  to  have  abstained  from  the  tn-union  of  hearts  it  had  now  be- 
come the  chief  duty  of  those  hours,  not  devoted  to  his  knightly  duties,  to 
promote. 

Such  were  the  reflections  of  the  Baron,  as  he  rode  impatiently  in  the  ad- 
vance of  his  men,  his  eye  keenly  fixed  on  the  Saracen  host,  then  deploying, 
wiih  great  pomp,  their  glittering  order  of  battle  to  meet  the  approaching 
Christians,  while  his  heart  exulted  in  a  wild  determination  to  expose  himself 
wherever  the  danger  seemed  hottest. 


•f 


i 
'I 


CHAPTER    IX. 


The  day  was  bright  and  scorching — the  arid  sands,  over  which  the 
Christians  moved,  rose  in  impalpable  dust,  and  parched  the  throats  of  the  tens 
of  thousands  composing  their  array.  Fatigued  and  dispirited,  and  sufTering 
intensely  from  a  thirst  which  had  lasted  for  many  hours,  they  nevertheless 
were  animated  by  a  zeal,  which  rendered  them  reckless  of  personal  privation, 
as  they  crossed  the  great  plain,  towards  the  lake  of  Tiberias,  where  the 
cautious  Saladin  awaited  their  onset  of  battle.  He  had  marked  and  exulted 
in  their  error.  They  had  imprudently  thrown  all  the  advantage  of  the  con- 
flict out  of  their  own  hands  into  his.  Had  they  continued  encamped  under 
the  walls  of  Jerusalem,  and  there  awaited  his  approach,  they  would  have 
forced  upon  him  the  privation  they  so  unnecessarily  encountered  themselves, 
and  thus  more,  than  neutralized  the  great  disparity  of  numbers  of  their  fight- 
ing men.  The  Saracens  were  as  little  capable  of  enduring  tl;e  thirst  of  that 
Syrian  region  as  were  their  enemies,  and  the  wily  and  sagacious  Saladin  well 
knew  that,  before  his  army  could  traverse  that  burning  plain,  thousands 
would  have  been  disabled  through  exhaustion,  from  partaking  in  the  struggle. 
The  more  to  harrass  the  Christians,  he  withdrew  slowly  as  they  advanced, 


i 


m. 


>«; 


■^•"'^jBr'si*^ 


*? 


-X 


42 


Till'    MONK    KNI(;i;T    01'    ST.    JOHN. 


€ 

™ 


i' 


and  not  until  tliey  had  fjaiiieil  the  farther  extremity  of  the  plain,  did  lie  fiiiaiiy 
halt  his  masses  to  receive  them.  Tiien  eommenced  the  most  fearful  earnafre. 
Like  fiends,  the  adverse  S([iiadrons  foil  upon  each  other ;  and  the  slai'trl'ter 
on  both  sides  was  so  great  that,  over  the  whole  space  occupied  hy  the  iwo 
armies,  the  sands  were  saturated  and  discolored  with  the  blood  of  men  and 
of  horses.  Shouts,  which  rent  tiie  air,  as  if  ten  thousand  devils  had  broken 
loose  from  their  confinement,  marked  the  onslaught  of  the  Christians,  faint- 
ing from  exhaustion,  thirst,  and  heat,  while  their  equally  enthusiastic,  but 
fresher  foes,  answered  to  their  furious  cries  of  hatred  and  vengeance,  by  the 
ear-piercing  clang  of  their  trumpets  and  atabals.  Death  and  desolation 
marked  the  hand-to-hand  encounter  of  the  two  hosts,  and  men  stood  aghast  at 
tJie  vastness  of  the  cruelty  of  their  own  prowess — of  their  own  deeds  of  blood. 
*'  Christ  and  the  Cross"  was  the  battle-cry  of  one  party — "  Mahomet  and  the 
Crescent"  that  of  the  other  ;  and  if  the  true  faith  were  to  have  been  measured 
and  acknowledged  by  the  standard  of  blood  shed  by  each  army  that  day,  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  decide  to  whom  the  palm  of  ascendancy  should 
have  l>cen  awarded.  Clouds  of  dust,  raised  by  the  hoofs  of  the  steeds  of  the  ^ 
warriors,  and  by  the  struggling  feet  of  men  in  their  last  agony,  hid  from  both  ' 
armies  the  sunlight  of  heaven,  and  formed  a  hot  and  floating  veil  which  glis- 
tened in  countless  millions  of  atoms,  over  their  devoted  heads,  adding  to  the 
fearful  sense  of  suffocation  they  otherwise  endured  So  deadly  was  the 
fight — so  confounded  the  melfe  of  horse  and  foot — of  knights  and  men-at-arms 
—that  acts  of  individual  prowess  were  scarcely  distinguished  from  their  very 
multiplicity.  It  was  one  general  slaughter-field  of  man,  created  in  God's 
fashion,  and  mercilessly  cut  down  by  his  fellow-man,  who  looked  eagerly  at 
the  streams  of  blood  that  flowed  around  him,  as  if  he  would  have  slaked  in 
it  the  burning  thirst  wbich  dried  up  the  juices  of  his  body,  and  gave  him 
a  foretaste  of  the  torments  of  the  damned. 

The  whole  of  that  fearful  day,  the  tide  of  battle  ceased  not  to  r\ge,  yet 
without  manifest  advantage  to  either  host.  The  Christians  made  the  most 
stupendous  efl^orts  to  reach  the  wells,  which  lay  close  behind  the  forces  of 
Saladin,  fighting  with  a  ferocity  which  had  not  been  surpassed  in  their  con- 
quest of  Jerusalem  itself,  and  throwing  themselves  madly  upon  the  lances  of 
•heir  enemies,  to  force  a  passage  to  the  coveted  water.  But  the  Saracen 
leader  knew  too  well  his  advantage.  While  his  own  troops  entered  fresh  into 
the  conflict,  he  had  marked  with  satisfaction,  the  tottering  advance  of  aeir 
foes,  sustained  only  by  their  indomitable  zeal,  and  he  had  made  his  disposi- 
tions accordingly.  He  had  seen  them  covered,  choked  with  the  sands  they 
had  traversed,  and,  with  parched  throats,  reeling  from  the  accumulation  of 
suflfering  to  which  they  had  been  exposed.  To  preserve  the  living  wall  of  his 
army,  which  formed  the  only  barrier  interposed  between  the  Christians  and 
the  wells,  which  would  have  aflbrded  them  new  energy  and  strength,  had 
been  his  chief  object,  and  gap  after  gap  was  filled  up,  the  moment  a  point  of 
attack  had  been  forced.  Night  came  on,  and  still  the  object  of  the  Christians 
was  unattained.  Foiled,  dispirited,  they  slowly  retired  and  took  up  a  po- 
sition where  a  cluster  of  high  and  precipitous  rocks  promised  them  security 
from  .^  -^-tse  during  the  night,  but  here  their  sufTerings  were  unabated. 
Water  there  was  none,  and  to  add  to  the  tortures  they  endured,  the  hot 


■*?■ } 

^:\ 


If' 


W 


'-.x:::^B 


'-i\ 


THK    MONK    KNIGHT    OK    ST.    lOH.N. 


43 


Syrian  night-air  was  rendered  more  intensely  arid  by  fires  which  had  been 
applied  by  the  Saracens  to  various  parts  of  a  wood  in  close  contiguity  to 
their  temporary  encampment.  ^ 

Nearly  at  the  head  of  that  tired  and  sleepless  host,  sat  a  helmeted  knight, 
with  his  back  reposing  against  a  flat  and  projecting  rock.  His  armor  and 
rich  surcoat  of  fur  were  covered  with  blood  and  dust,  formed  into  a  thick 
paste,  so  thickly  streaked  upon  them,  that  it  was  difTicult  to  tell  the  original 
color  of  either.  Close  a„  his  side  was  a  page  holding  two  steeds,  covered 
with  dust  also ;  one,  with  his  jaded  head  drooping  to  the  ground,  and 
with  languid  and  half-closed  eyes,  attesting  the  excess  of  fatigue  and  priva- 
tion which  he  had  undergone.  The  second  and  larger  animal  cxhibitfed  no 
sucii  signs  of  weakness.  He  champed  his  bit  and  pricked  his  ears  un- 
ceasingly, as  if  impatient  to  be  let  loose  again  upon  the  coarse  he  had  so 
recently  run.  The  page  himself  was  overcome  by  drowsiness,  and,  ever  and 
anon,  dropped  his  head  upon  his  chest  heavily,  but  was  almost  instantly  re- 
called to  himself,  as  the  fiery  steed  tossed  up  his  head  at  intervals,  and  drew 
the  bridle,  with  a  strong,  quick  jerk,  through  his  bent  arm. 

"  Poor  boy,"  remarked  the  Knight,  in  a  low  tone  of  commiseration — "  if 
you  can  sleep  amid  this  terrible  drought,  great  must  be  your  fatigue,  indeed. 
But,  wherefore  should  I  wonder  that  it  is  so.  Few  of  the  men  of  Auvergne 
have  followed  me  to-day  more  closely  than  yourself.     Sleep,  dear  boy,  sleep  >> 

The  waking  of  to-morrow  will  be  a  terrible  one." 

As  he  thus  spoke,  the  generous  Knight  slipped  the  bridle  of  his  own  im- 
patient steed  from  the  arm  of  the  page  and  inserted  it  within  his  own.  The 
effect  on  the  tired  youth  was  instantaneous.  The  other  horse  was  too  mo- 
tionless to  disquiet  him,  and  when  the  boy's  head  again  sank  upon  his  chest, 
he  profoundly  slept. 

De  Boiscourt — for  it  was  indeed  that  gallant  and  noble-hearted  knight  who 
had  taken  up  his  position  at  the  head  of  his  surviving  retainers,  waiting  for 
the  dawn — sat  for  some  moments  with  his  arms  folded  across  his  chest,  and 
indulging  in  the  same  painful  train  of  thought  which  had  caused  him  so 
much  melancholy  reflection  in  the  morning.  Suddenly,  the  pricking  of  the 
ears,  and  the  whinnying  of  Belteil,  in  a  tone  which  seemed  to  indicate  the  pre 
eence  of  some  familiar  acquaintance,  caught  his  attention,  and  caused  him 
to  turn  his  eyes  in  the  direction  in  which  he  now  first  heard  the  fiiint  tramp-  \ 
ling  of  horse's  feet.  As  the  object  drew  nearer  to  him,  the  outline  of  a 
mounted  knight  was  dimly  visible,  and  then,  as  it  appro;iched,  nearer  the 
heart  of  the  Baron  beat  quickly,  happily,  impatiently — for  there  was  no  mis- 
taking that  majestic  horseman.  It  was  Abdallah,  fully  equipped  in  his 
warrior's  garb. 

Starting  up  from  the  ground  on  which  he  sat,  de  Boiscourt  advanced  to 
meet  him,  leading  Belceil  by  the  bridle,  and  with  a  sentiment  of  almost  fear 
at  his  heart,  lest  he  should  be  disappointed  in  the  manner  of  his  reception. 
Deep  was  his  joy,  however,  when  the  latter,  dismounting  slowly  from  his 
war-horse,  embraced  him  with  all  the  ardor  of  their  usual  friendship.  They 
then  approached  the  spot  which  the  Baron  had  just  left,  and  turning  the 
angle  of  the  rock,  seated  themselves  a  tew  yards  from  Rudolph,  who  now 
hidden  from  view,  still  profoundly  slept.      The  Knights  held  their  own  -  > 


m 


I ,/ 


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% 


1: 


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w 


M 


4' 


44 


THE    MONK   KNIOHT    ('!■    M.    JOHN. 


horses,  which,  with  nrntiial  recofrnition,  licked  cacli  others  head  and  neck, 
and  otherwise  wxined  nearly  as  glad  as  their  riders  at  the  reunion. 

"Deareet  Abdallah,''  observed  the  Baron,  when  they  had  exchanged  the 
first  warm  evidences  of  their  friendship.  "  If  you  knew  what  I  had  suffered 
from  your  leaving  the  camp,  without  apprising  me  of  your  intention,  you 
.,y  never  would  have  pained  me  thus.     Ah  !  I  never  knew  until  this  day,  that 

friendship  can  fee!  as  keenly  in  its  disappointment  as  love.  What  caused 
your  abrupt  departure'"' 

"The  explanation  is  .soon  given.""  returned  the  Monk,  whose  countenance, 
ciilm  and  dignified  as  usual,  was  strongly  reflected  m  the  moonligiit. — "  But, 
dear  de  Boiscourt,  the  fatigue  of  this  terrible  day  has  so  cloven  my  tongue 
to  my  parched  palate,  that  I  must  be  brief  in  words.  That,"  he  pursued, 
"was  a  master-stroke  of  Saladin,  in  forcing  us  to  traverse  the  plain,  instead 
of  harrassing  the  Moslem  ranks  by  coming  to  ua.  Had  the  sage  advice  of 
the  Count  of  Tripoli  found  the  weight  it  deserved,  that  false  move  of  the 
Christians  would  never  have  been  made,  and  the  Holy  City  of  the  Cross 
would  not  at  this  hour  stand  imperilled." 

"  Imperilled  !"  returned  the  Baron,  "  and  wherefore  imperilled,  Abdallah' 
"  Will  not  to-morrow's  stm  go  down  upon  a  field  of  carnage,  moistened 
more  with  Moslem  than  with  Christian  blood  1  Will  not  the  banners  of  the 
%  Cross  float  over  theae  very  wells  the    Saracen  has  so  stubbornly  withheld 

from  us  this  day,  and  which,  when  gained,  will  flow  like  manna  to  the  sick 
sonl,  giving  new  strength  and  confidence  to  the  Christian  host.  In  a  word, 
shall  we  not,  to-morrow,  revenge  i.^  partial  discomfiture  of  to-day '  Y'es — 
by  the  Cross,  we  shall  I" 

"  Nay,  dear  de  Boiscourt,"  replied  the  Monk,  with  solemnity ;  "  your 
generous  and  enterprising  soul  renders  you  more  sanguine  than  the  gloomy 
aspect  of  our  afiairs  would  seem  to  justify.  Alas!  I  feel  not  thus  confident. 
Well  do  1  know  that  all  that  zeal  and  heroism  can  afl!'ectwill  be  essayed,  but 
we  cannot  war  against  nature — '*  ' 

"  Ah  !  say  you  so,"  quickly  interrupted  the  Baron,  his  mind  still  engrossed 
by  the  one  sole  subject  in  which  he  took  delight ;  "  you  admit,  then,  the  im- 
possibility of  man  warring  against  nature." 

"  Yes ;"  answered  the  Monk,  hoarsely — almost  fiercely — as  he  pressed 
,^  unconsciously,  with  iron  grasp,  the  hand  of  the  Baron.  "  I  admit  it  even  in 
the  sense  in  which  you  mean  it ;  but" — he  resumed,  ai\er  a  short  pause,  in 
his  usually  composed  manner — "  that  was  not  what  I  would  have  stated 
here.  I  meant  to  convey  that  the  Christian  forces,  worn  out  by  fatigue,  and 
half  maddened  by  the  agonizing  stings  of  thirst,  cannot  hope  successfully  to 
contend  against  an  enemy  nearly  double  in  number,  and  even  now,  while  I 
speak,  perhaps,  cooling  their  parched  frames  from  those  very  wells  they 
have  so  carefully  guarded,  and  to  fill  my  helmet  from  which,  before  enter- 
ing into  battle,  I  would  almost  consent  to  lose  my  shield-arm.  De  Boiscourt," 
pursued  the  Monk,  sadly,  "  if  even  I,  who  have,  in  accordance  with  the  strict 
duties  of  my  order,  lived  a  life  of  privation — of  constant  and  unflinching  war 
against  the  flesh— feel  thus,  what  must  not  be  the  eflfect  upon  the  mass  who 
have  not  been  taught  the  fortitude  to  bear?     But  I  can  no  more,"  he  con- 


i 


f 


^  fl 


^. 


THK    MONK    KNKiHT    Or"    »T.    JOHN. 


45 


eluded  faintly,  '•  my  lips  almost  refuse  to  do  their  office, so  parched  are  they, 
so  deficient  in  moiature  is  my  tongue." 

•'Oh,  Abdallah!  but  stay — Rudolph,  boy,  awake- some  hither  imme- 
diately," and  de  Boiscourl  started  to  his  feet. 

Roused  by  the  sound  of  his  master's  voice,  the  boy  dropped  the  reins  of 
his  palfrey,  and  advanced,  rubbinp  his  eyes,  to  the  spot  whence  the  voice 
proceeded,  but  when,  on  turning  the  angle  of  thewock,  he  beheld  him  not 
alone,  but  in  company  with  the  Monk,  iht^  joy  of  his  young  heart  could  not 
bf'  suppressed,  and  throwing  himself  on  his  knees,  he  plactxl  his  arms  round 
Abdallah's  neck,  shed  a  paroxysm  of  tears,  and  utlere<l  the  iTiost  winning 
and  affcctionale  expressions  of  delight  at  once  nioro  beholding  him. 

••  Poor  child!"  said  the  Monk,  with  much  emotion,  a.s  he  pressed  hrin 
fondly  arnd  paternally  to  his  heart,  "  well  do  I  esteem  tlitiae  marks  of  your 
affection;  bul  wherefore  is  it,  Rudolph,  that  I  have  won  this  new  and  ex- 
ceeding interest  in  your  regard.  I  had  always  thought  you  looked  upon  me 
as  one  too  stern  to  command  your  confidence  and  friendship." 

"  Ah  !  Sir  Monk,"  replied  the  generous  boy,  "  not  my  high  esteem  for 
you  alone,  but  ray  deep  love  for  my  master,  the  husband  of  the  dear  Lady 
Ernestina,  has  caused  me  to  act  thus  unseemly  for  a  page.  But  did  you 
know  what  agony  of  mind  he  has  secretly  endured,  yet  failed  to  conceal 
from  ray  too  observant  eye,  you  would  not  wonder  at  the  deep,  wild  joy  I  felt, 
on  waking  ^oraa  dream  of  horror,  in  which,  methought  we  were  all  perishing 
of  thirst,  to  find,  with  my  lord,  the  dear  friend  whose  absence  he  has  so 
greatly  mourned." 

"  Rudolph,"  said  the  Baron,  taking  his  hand  as  he  rose  from  his  knees, 
"  you  say  that  your  dream  announced  that  we  were  all  perishing  of  thirel — 
alas  !  this  will  be  too  true,  unless  you  have  made  some  provision  against  it. 
I  almost  drejid  to  ask  you  whether,  with  your  usual  prudence  and  forethought, 
you  garnished  your  flasks  this  morning  before  leaving  the  tent,  and  if  so, 
whether  they  have  escaped  the  descending  battle-axes  and  scimeters  of  the 
Moslems!'" 

"  Thank,  thank  God,  I  did  provide,"  returned  the  youth,  eagerly,  "I 
filled  both  flasks  with  wine  whMemy  lord  was  mounting.  I  had,  most  strange 
to  say,  forgotten  all  about  it ;  but  ah,  it  is  well ;  for  now,  in  the  moment  of 
most  need,  is  it  untouched.  No  battle-axe  or  scimetcr  has  injured  the 
llaaks,  for,  you  know,  my  lord,  I  was  too  well  guarded  from  their  blows  by 
yourself." 

"  Quick,  dear  Rudolph,  and  bring  hither  a  flask,  for  the  noble  Monk  re- 
(|uires  it  much,  nor  less  myself,  nor  you,  dear  boy.  Ah,  if  this  be  not  manna 
m  the  wilderness,  what  is?" 

Rudolph  hastened  to  secure  his  prize ;  but,  to  his  great  dismay,  on  reach- 
ing the  spot  where  he  had  left  his  dozing  horse,  the  animal  was  nowhere  to 
be  seen.  The  horror  of  his  feelings  was  great  beyond  expression,  not  ao 
much  for  the  loss  of  his  horse,  as  of  the  liquid  treasure  with  which  he  was 
laden.  Not  daring  to  announce  his  misfortune,  he  followed  in  pursuit,  taking 
the  narrow  path  among  the  winding  rocks  which  led  to  the  vanguard  of  the 
Baron's  retainers,  where  he  hoped  to  find  the  further  advance  of  the  animal 
ariested.     Running  with  fleetness,  he  had  not  gone  more  than  fifty  yarda, 


m. 


M 


s' 


r 


I'; 
i 


il 

V. 

.51 
i 


'II 


•0' 


46 


THK    .MONK    KNKiHT    OF    sT.    JOHN. 


wlien  he  fancied  lie  could  distinffuiHh  the  (lutliiu'  of  a  horso,  ri-lieved  aijuinst 
the  face  of  a  slate-colored  rock.  As  he  drew  nearer  he  was  convinced  that 
it  was  his  own,  but  ho  now  also  distinctly  observed  a  human  fifjure  between 
the  animal  and  the  rock,  whom  he  at  (nice  recognized  as  one  of  the  Haron's 
men-at-arms.  He  was  evidently  riHiii>;  the  panniers  of  their  contents,  for  ht! 
held  n|)  one  of  the  flasks  to  the  light  of  the  moon,  as  if  with  the  view  to  aa 
certain  the  quality  of  its  qtatents. 


CHAPTER    X. 


;  I 


That  sight  was  sufficient  to  arouse  all  the  energies  of  the  gentle  boy. 
The  fear  of  losing  one  drop  of  the  precious  wine,  caused  him  to  utter  a  loud 
and  startling  shout,  as  he  rushed  determinedly  towards  the  evidctii  purloiner 
of  his  treasure.  Surprised  at  the  interruption,  the  latter  dropped  the  hand 
which  held  the  flask,  and  advanced  to  confront  the  intruder.  As  he  stood  face 
to  face  with  him,  he  recognized  the  hard  features  of  Cceur-de- Fer.  | 

"  Ha  !  is  that  you,  then?  I  thought  that  some  unknown  knave  had  stolen 
my  little  Blondin,  but  now,  I  see,  it  is  you.  He  slept,  the  cunning  rascal, 
while  Beloeil  was  near  him,  but  the  moment  my  lord,  seeing  me  fatigued 
with  holding  both,  led  him  round  the  angle  of  the  rock,  near'which  we  lay, 
and  therefore  out  of  his  sight,  he  thought  his  companion  was  gone.  Coming 
this  way  you  met  him.  Was  it  not  so,  Coeur-de-Fer.  Ah,  my  good  fellow, 
how  much  I  have  to  thank  you  for.     You  have  saved  my  lord's  life." 

"  Indeed  !  young  Master  Rudolph,  and  how  is  that,  pray  ?"  asked  the  man- 
at  arms,  composedly,  as  he  proceeded  to  unscrew  the  metal  stopper  of  the 
flask,  which,  however,  swollen  with  moisture  as  it  was,  resisted  all  his 
eflbrts. 

"  Hold  !  Coeur-de-Fer,  you  surely  do  not  mean  to  rob  my  lord  of  his  pro- 
perty,"' remarked  the  page,  eagerly  and  angrily.  Consider  that  the  Baron 
and  his  friend,  the  Monk  Knight,  Abdallah,  are  even  at  thi.^  moment  panting 
like  Dives  from  thirst,  and  waiting  to  cool  their  scorched  palates  from  that 
flask." 

"  Indeed,"  again  sneered  the  man  ;  "  are  you  sincere  in  what  you  say, 
Master  Rudolph." 

"  What  I  say,  Coeur-de-Fer,  is  most  true,"  returned  the  boy,  in  some  mea- 
sure discouitiged  at  the  man's  insolence  of  tone. 

"  And  who  sufl^ers  the  most  in  his  thirst  i"  demanded  the  fellow,  coolly. 
"  the  Baron  or  the  Monk  ?" 

"  Oh  !  the  Monk,"  returned  the  Page,  replying  to  his  question,  purely 
from  a  desire  to  gain  the  object  he  had  in  view.  •'  He  is  almost  speechless 
from  thirst." 

"  Ha  !  that  is  well !  exclaimed  Coeur-de-Fer,  "  let  him  thirst  and  be 
damned  in  his  thirst.  The  thought  will  render  my  own  draught  the  sweeter. 
It  will  revenge  the  death  of  the  brave  Thibaud,  and  of  his  comrades.  Be- 
sides, child,  necessity  knows  no  law  of  right— none  of  the  mfitm  ijiid  tiniin 


I. 


* 


TlIK    MONK    KNKiHT    OK    ST.    .lOHN. 


47 


nonfteiifcp  I've  liwijil  spciik  tif  in  the  iiioimstery  of  Aiivt-renr.  TC  tin;  Huron  is 
KiifforiiiK  from  lliirMt,  I  ;nu  vtry  sorry  lor  him,  Init,  pnrdini,  1  liiivc  the  suiue 
complaint  myscll,  uixl  tK't'ore  I  j^ivc  ii))  the  jjhosl,  I  would  fUin  ticklo  my 
palate  wilh  wiial  hat*  never  yet  passed  lip  of  mine  since  1  left  onr  Iteaulifnl 
poutli — some  of  ilrti  tempt infj-lookmjf  ('y[)rnM  wnie,  with  which  I  have  more 
than  once  seeti  you  jjarnish  these  hampers.  As  for  the  Monk,"  ho  continued, 
savagely,  "  let  him  die." 

"  .\nd  wherefore  this  most  unchristian  bitterness  agaiuHt  the  pious  Monk," 
returned  the  youth,  in  acrentH  that  wen;  intended  to  soothe  the  rough  ('omr- 
de-Fer  into  a  change  of  purpose.  "  What  can  he  have  done  to  provoke 
your  anger  !" 

"Pious  Monk '  said  you'"  retorted  the  man-at-arms,  furiously:  "piety 
like  Ills  be  dannied.  Pretty  piety,  truly,  to  cut  oil"  half  a  dozen  .sorvunls  ot 
the  true  (Jod.  uieri'ly  liecau.se  iliey  ra'ished  a  few  infulel  women,  aiul 
therefore  did  honor  to  the  accursed  of  Christ  and  of  his  followers.  Look  you 
here.  Master  Hudolph,  1  know  whiil  I  speak  about.  1  was  one  of  a  parly  of 
six,  who,  under  'riiihaud,  ;il)(iul  two  vears  ajjo,  took  tliree  Sara(;en  women 
prisoners  apd  carri('d  them  into  a  wood  a.><  our  prize  and  spoil.  Well,  two  of 
them  wore  alre.uly  .sacrificed,  and  Thibaud  ua.s  about  overcoming  the  scruples 
of  the  third,  (who  was  the  mi.-iress,  an»l  the  ino.-t  beautiful  of  them,)  v^-hen 
the  devil  .must  make  hia  ajipearance  in  the  shape  of  this  Monk,  who,  v'ith  ad 
many  blows  of  his  tlaahiiif;  scimeler.  lopjied  olF  the  heads  of  my  five  com- 
panions, and  luil  satisfied  wilh  this,  took  'riiibaud  up  in  his  hands  as  thoujjh 
he  had  lu-en  no  heavier  than  a  shadow,  and  dashed  his  l)rains  out  against  the 
very  tree,  where  1.  on  hearing;  the  Monk  come  up,  had  hidden  myself,  and 
from  behind  which  I  had  witnessed  the  whole  scene.  Pnrdini !  had  he 
waited  until  Thibaud  had  finished  his  little  bit  of  love  nuiking,  1  could 
have  forgiven  his  killinjf  liiiii  afterwards,  but  not  then.  It  disappointed 
Thibaud — it  disajipointed  me,  aiul  1  liav(!  hated  him  most  cordially  ever 
since." 

"Villain!"  mutteri-d  the  [laife  ;  a  thousand  vecollectious  connected  with 
that  circumstance  rushing  upon  his  memory.  "  Vou  were  then  one  of  that 
ruffian  party,  and  '..<  lord,  in  ignorance  of  this,  has  ever  since  retained  you 
in  his  confidence!" 

"  Aiul  why  not.  Master  Rudolph  '  Has  not  the  confidence  been  well 
repaid  '  Have  I  not  always  done  my  duty  both  in  camp  as  in  the  field — as 
well  as  his  ^rroom  and  forager,  as  his  man-at-arms  ?  I  have  no  enmity  against 
the  Baron,  lM)y  ;  he  has  always  been  kind  to  me,  but  I  never  looked  upon 
that  cnrstnl  Monk-Knight,  without  feeling  a  sensation  of  hate,  as  in  fancy  I 
feel  his  sharp  scimeter  across  my  own  neck." 

"  But  ycm  will  give  me  up  my  flask,  C(Eur-de-Fer,"  continued  the  youth, 
in  an  insinuating  tone  ;  "  you  know  my  loru  .anguishes  ;  let  us  not  waste  the 
time  in  fuiiher  parley" 

"  Yes  ;  '  returned  the  man  fiercely,  "and  the  Monk  languishes.  Let 
him  in  imagination  slake  his  thirst  in  the  blood  of  Thibaud  and  his  fellow 
victims,  and  tell  my  lord,  that  though  men  have  eaten  each  other  to  stay  their 
appetite  before  this,  I  only  drink  his  wine.  And  this,  not  because  J  regard 
him  less,  but  because  1  love  myself  more      Tlimk  not,"  he  added,  with  sar- 


i\ 


% 


^' 


i 


^-' 


TMK    MClNK    KMCiltr    OK    hT.    JOHN. 


:^ 


casm,  "  th;itl  liavp  pjisord  almost  half  the  i)ij;lil  in  watching  for  my  prize,  to 
Burremlor  it  thus  ca»ily  at  your  prayiii).',  Ma.Mcr  UiuUtlpli.  Say  to  the 
Duron,  that  to-morrow  I  shall  bt-  prepared  to  lay  down  my  life  in  hattlp  for 
the  (tom.1.  hut  liiat  I  cannot  yifld  liiui  this.  Ah  '  how  sweet  will  he  the 
quaffinjr  "•  'he  delicious  slull"  het'ore  I  die.  SijH,  Hudolph,  for  old  aajuaiiit- 
ancc  sake,  will  I  give  you  from  the  flask,  to  cool  your  burninjj  tongue." 

"  Kuniaii  I"  sluiuted  the  hoy.  .stampiii^;  hi-^  foot  violently  on  the  ground, 
"you  tiien  stole  the  horse,  and  he  did  not  slvay  to  you.     Out  uiioii  your  m 
tended  regard  for  me.     Hut  dare  to  taste  of  that  liquor,  and  your  blood  be 
upon  your  own  head." 

"  Hal  do  you  ihroalen.  young  sir — a  [luiiy  thing  like  you,  to  use  sucli 
language  to  the  strongest  man-at-arms  in  the  Baron's  force'  'i'hia  may  do 
for  (la.scony  hut  not  in  Auvergne.  fiy  my  troth  !"  he  added,  furiously,  '"  un- 
less, you  put  a  bridle  on  your  pert  tongue,  1  will  slay  and  hurl  your  carcase 
behiiul  these  rocks  for  the  vulture  to  feast  upon  at  hi8  leisure." 

"  Ciod  defend  the  right!"  cried  the  l)oy,  as  he  saw  that  C.'oeur-de-Fer  was 
gradually  loosening  the  stopper  which  had  at  length  been  moved;  then,  utter- 
ing de  Hoiscourt's  name  in  a  loud  and  piercing  key,  he  sprang  like  a  young 
tiger  upon  him,  and  clenched  his  hand  around  his  neck  with  a  force  of 
which  he  had  never  believed  himself  capable. 

Astonished,  enraged,  and  nearly  half-throttled,  the  man  was  compelled  to 
drop  the  flask,  in  order  to  have  the  free  use  of  his  hands.  Furious  with 
pain,  he  sliook  the  boy  so  violently,  that  he,  in  turn,  was  driven  from  his 
hold,  when  Coeur-de-Fer,  grasping  both  arms  in  his  iron  clutch,  tore  them 
asunder  from  his  throat,  and  dashed  him  heavily  to  the  ground. 

"  Young  fool !"  he  nmtlered  hoarsely,  as  he  stooped  over  him,  "  you  have 
provoked  your  own  fate.     There  must  be  no  one  to  tell  of  this  hereafter." 

With  one  hand  he  felt  the  light  armor  of  the  page,  fiercely  struggling  to 
free  himself,  for  an  opening  through  which  he  might  direct  the  point  of  the 
short  rude  dagger,  which  he  had  unsheathed,  and  now  held  aloft  in  iiis  right 
hand. 

"Hal  ha!  ha!  caitiff!"  laughed  Rudolph,  bitterly — almost  hysterically, 
"  do  you  experience  that  tingling  sensation  in  your  neck  now?  just  fancy 
that,  like  Thibaud,  you  feel  the  sharp  scimeler  of  the  Monk-Knight ;  or,  the 

very  moment  when  you  feel  your  purpose  about  to  be  accomplished " 

"  Damned  be  the  Monk — may  his  soul  burn  in " 

His  spei'i'li  was  ali.  ;itly  closed — or  if  the  word  "  hell"  came  from  hi3 
lips,  It  must  have  been  uttered  in  too  low  a  voice  to  be  heard.  The  blow 
had  taken  off  the  arm  at  the  shoulder,  and  apparently  extinguished  life. 

It  was  a  singular  coincidence,  as  the  younger  knight  afterwards  remarked, 
that  the  same  arm  and  the  same  scimeter,  but  at  a  different  epoch  of  time, 
should  have  pimished  the  last  ot  the  band  that  had  carried  on  their  lustful 
orgies  in  the  heart  of  the  sycamore  wood.  It  was  Alniallah,  who,  aroused 
by  he  first  piercing  cry  of  the  boy  had,  with  de  Boiscourt,  flown  to  his 
rescu  N  and  guided  by  the  sounds  of  struggle  between  the  unequal  combatants, 
trace  1  their  way  without  dilRculty  to  the  spot.  The  younger  knight  lead- 
ing thei"  steel's  wis  a  little  in  Uie  rear,  but  Abdallah,  who  at  a  glance  had 
observed  the  condition  of  affairs,  fearing  that  the  tramp  of  their  (c  :  niight 


THK    MONK    K.VIOIIT    OK    >T.     lOMN. 


49 


precipitatfi  the  (NitiiHlroplii'  lin  Moiiiflii  lo  avoid,  iiK.tionrd  lo  Itirt  friend  i.i  re- 
main stationary,  while  ho  Htolo  cantioiif<ly  forward  with  his  scinifiter  bared, 
and  fvcn  navaifidy  Krimpcd.  <'i^iir-ii,--F'Vr  hud  hft'ti  too  miirh  excited  to  no- 
tice the  approiich  of  any  one,  for  Ins  »oiil  w.ih  fill,  d  with  .shame  at  havinjj 
thus  been  riitiely  umultcd  and  Ihrotiled  by  a  boy  whom  he  despised  for  his 
very  physiciil  weaknusw,  ami  now  res<ilv('d  to  desiniy  ;  ;iad  so  fiirions  was 
he,  that  not  even  the  nidckin^  w«rnin(;  of  Uiidcdph.  which  was  meant  to 
divert  liim  from  hi«  aim,  eonhi  for  one  moment  turn  him  from  his  piirposo. 
Stealthy  and  prompt,  howe\.'i,  .\^  hail  been  the  ridvanee  of  AlMlallah,  he 
miijht  have  been  loo  late  to  save  tlie  iiti^  of  the  boy,  had  not  tlie  latter  kept 
his  body  in  such  uneeaKinf?  motion,  as  to  cause  his  assailant  great  delay  in 
findini,'  an  accessible  point  to  his  heart,  and  successfully  directing  the  dasrgcr 
where  he  had. 

'♦  The  wine — tlin  wine — (!oil  he  praised  !  the  wine  is  saved."  was  the  first 
thonijht  and  exclamiilion  of  Kiidolph,  a.s,  .sprinjring  lij^'htly  to  Ins  tret,  he 
flew  to  the  xpoi  wli'Tc  ill'  inriiri.ueil  Auveri,Miois  bad  dropped  the  flask  totbe 
earth.  Hal  here  it  is— untouched,  undcfilod,  by  his  ruffian  lips.  Sir  Monk, 
you  have  litis  nifibt  sjved  Hiidelpli's  life,  as  .some  half  dozen  times  before  you 
have  .shielded  that  of  my  lord  and  miisler.  Oh,  think  then,"  and  lie  bent 
him  reverently,  "  how  deep  is  ray  rejoicement  at  the  sudden  resolution  with 
which  a  divine  Power  must  have  inspired  me  to  preserve  this  for  those  I  so 
much  love,  and  who  so  much  retiuire  it." 

In  vain,  however,  Rudolph  i  .:S!iycd  to  unscrew  the  top.  His  fingers  slip- 
ped around  it,  and  he  was  compelled  to  hand  it  to  the  Monk  to  open.  But 
even  the  great  strength  of  the  latter  availed  not  more,  when,  using  his  scime- 
ter,  he,  with  a  slight  sharp  blow  from  this,  severed  the  leaden  fiead  from 
its  body. 

It  must  not  be  suppose<l  that  the  f1a.ska  of  that  day  bore  any  resemblance  to 
the  puny  things  of  the  present.  Like  those  who  u.sed  them,  they  were  on  a 
scale  of  grandeur,  and  contained  each  nearly  lialf  a  gallon  of  whatever  re- 
freshing l)ev(!rage  was  placed  in  them  for  the  u.se  of  the  knight,  and  such  of 
his  brother  warriors  as  he  chose  sliouhl  share  with  him,  when  the  tatigue  of 
the  battle  was  over,  and  themselves  far  without  reach  of  their  own  stores. 
The  leaden,  or  pewter,  or  silver  flasks — for  they  varied  in  value,  according 
to  the  rank  or  individual  taste  of  their  owners — was  broad,  large,  and  flat ; 
and  fitted,  as  has  been  stated,  into  panniers,  partially  hidden  under  the  man- 
tle wbich  the  scjuire  or  page  tsually  carried  on  his  crupper.  They  were  not 
iui  indisi)ensablc,  or  even  generrl,  portion  of  the  equipment  of  these  latter, 
out  under  those  scorching  suns,  and  in  a  country  where  water  eould  only  be 
obtaiiKul  at  particular  points  and  long  intervals  of  a  march,  they  had  been  in- 
troduwd  by  a  majority  of  the  knights,  who  were  not  of  the  severer  and  self- 
mortifying  orders.  Many  a  hard-fought  contest  was  cheated  of  a  portion  of 
its  toil,  whenever  the  parched  lips  of  the  jaded  knight  could  be  refreshed 
from  these  portable  wells,  whether  of  water  or  of  wine,  by  his  faitlifi.l  page. 

Ft  hius  already  been  seen  that  Abdallali,  however  denying  to  himself  even 
(he  presence  of  women,  was  by  no  means  rigid  in  his  abstinence  from  wine, 
not  that  he  ever  indulged  in  it  to  excess,  but  that  his  ideas  of  temperance — 
more  regulated  by  quantity  than  by  quality — nor  indeed  was  it  enjoined,  by 

4 


60 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


5! 


the  rvilcs  of  the  Order  of  St.  John,  that  more  than  sobriety  should  be  kept  in 
view  by  its  members. 

It  was  not  likely  then  that,  on  the  present  occasion,  after  having  endured 
almost  unto  fainting,  so  many  hours  of  intolerable  thirst,  he  would  impose 
upon  himself  any  very  severe  restraint,  or  fail  to  indemnify  himself  for  the 
terrible  torture  he  had  suffered  from  the  maddening  influence  of  that  thirst. 
Water  had  been  to  him  far  more  acceptable  than  wine,  but  in  the  absence  of 
the  former,  the  latter,  from  its  comparative  lightness,  was  without  price. 
Putting  the  heavy  tlask  to  his  lips,  therefore,  he  drank,  not  with  avidity,  but 
slowly  and  deliberately,  and  as  he  felt  each  drop  of  the  wine  insinuating  it- 
self as  it  were  into  his  system,  and  mingling  with  his  blood,  while  it  infused 
fresh  vigor  into  his  tired  frame,  he  experienced  the  only  true  sensation  of 
vt)luptuous  enjoymnnt  he  had  ever  known  :  nor  did  he  stay  the  delicious 
draught,  until  nearly  half  of  the  geneious  wine  had  passed  his  lips. 

Breathing  a  deep  breath  when  he  had  finished,  he  sank  upon  his  knees, 
and,  with  uplifted  liands,  gave  tiianks  to  God  aloud,  not  only  for  the  sns- 
tenance  of  his  strength,  but  for  the  relief  afforded  him  from  the  anguish  he 
had  endured. 

"  And  you,  too,  my  dear  child,  I  must  not,  while  rendering  thanks  to  the 
All-mcrcitul,  tbrget  its  noble  and  generous  instrument.  But  you  are  here, 
de  Boiscourt.     Drink." 

•'  Riglit  gladly."  said  the  Baron,  shaking  the  still  well-filled  flask  which 
he  had  received  from  the  hands  of  the  Monk,  and  now  held  up  to  his  own 
lips.     "  Here's  to  Ernestina  !" 

"Whom  God  of  his  infinite  goodness  bless,"  exclaimed  the  Monk,  fer- 
vently, and  in  a  dee]i  and  impassioned  tone. 

"  Spare  it  not.  my  lord,"  urged  Rudolph.  "  its  fellow  is  in  the  same 
paruiier.  Ah  !  how  lucky  it  was  my  jumping  at  that  fellow's  throat.  But 
for  that  sudden  thought,  what  would  have  become  of  us'" 

"  Who  iS  the  ruffian  !"  asked  de  Boiscourt  as,  after  having  swallowed  about 
half  of  what  Abdiiliah  had  left,  he  handed  it  in  turn  to  the  page,  with  an 
iiijuiK-tion  to  drink  likewise,  but  sparingly. 

'•It  is  ('(Pur-de-Fer,  my  lord,"  returned  the  boy.  "Thank  Heaven,  the 
villain  has  no  further  povver  to  harm." 

"  Coeur-de-fer  and  villain  1"  returned  the  Baron  with  amazement,  "Do 
you  mean  tliat  my  own  faitiii'ul  groom  was  your  assailant '     Explain,  boy.'' 

In  a  few  brief  words  Rudolph,  wiio  liad  now  merely  moistened  his  lips 
from  the  wine  flask,  communicated  the  whole  of  the  farts  connected  with  the 
loss-  of  Ids  Blondiii.  his  fiiuling  him  in  the  possession  of  <^'(pur-de-fer,  already 
in  the  very  act  of  rilling  the  panniers  ,  his  entreaty  in  favor  of  the  Baron 
and  of  the  Monk  ;  the  insolent  inessasre  of  the  fellow  to  his  lord  :  his  de- 
clared hutri'ii  of  Abdallali,  and  its  cause  ;  the  altercation  and  struggle  which 
nusiied.  and  lastly,  the  certainty  with  which  lie  looked  upon  death  at  the 
very  moment  when,  glancing  forward  as  he  lay  lieneath  the  grasp  of  the  as- 
sassin, lie  bclii'ld  liie  Monk-Knight  coming  to  his  rescue. 

••  Noble  i)oy."'  said  de  Boiscourt,  as  he  caught  and  pressed  the  paae  to  his 
heart.  "  well  have  you  acted.  But  for  your  firmness  and  pri'sencc  of  mind, 
we  had  all.  iiidei'd.  suffered  tiie  tortures  of  the  damned.     But  how.  ihidolph, 


■t 


^V:. 


THE    :^.l;iNiC    ICNIiiMT    OF    ST.    .0!I\. 


.■)1 


could  you  think  of  tryinsr  your  strength  aguiiist  such  a  i^iaut '  Swpot  will 
be  the  kiss  tho  Lady  Ernestina  will  bestow  upon  your  fair  brow,  and  as  for 
the  pretty  Henriette,  she  will  absolutely  devour  her  littl"  \mge  with  the  rose 
buds  of  her  lips." 

"  Oh.  my  lord,"  said  the  boy,  whose  blushes  the  r  .rht  alone  concealed,  "  I 
am  so  happy  that  I  did  it.  It  was  a  hopeless  case,  lo  be  sure,  but  I  hadn't 
time  to  reflect  on  the  dantre-.  I  was  wild  with  f'ismny,  fr  I  knew  that  the 
noble  Monk  was  weary  and  faint  from  thirst,  and  I  fancie'i,  .ny  lord's  suffer- 
ings scarcely  to  be  less.  Nay,  T  was  the  more  miserable,  because  I  knew 
the  fault  was  my  ow-n,  I'or  I  had  no  business  to  leave  Blondin  loose  as  I  did. 
Cceur-dc-fer  never  would  have  stolen  him,  if  I  iiad  led  him  by  the  bridle 
when  my  lord  called  me  to  him. 

"  I  cannot  help  thinking  of  the  fate  of  that  scoundrel,''  said  the  Baron, 
musingly.  You  say  he  admitted  himself  to  have  been  one  of  the  party  who 
fell  by  the  scimeter  of  Abdallah,  two  years  ago,  and  that  he  escaped  unseen 
and  unharmed.  Little  did  he  think,  while  avoiding  the  punishment  due  to 
liis  crimes  on  thaf  green  and  velvet  sward,  that  he  should  meet  it  afterwards, 
and  from  the  same  hand,  amid  those  savage  rocks.  Surely,  .surely  this  is 
the  work  of  an  over-ruling  Providence.  But  come,  Abdallah,  let  us  again 
seat  ourselves  and  while  away  the  time  until  dawn." 


«l 


'* 


y 


Do 

boy." 

lips 

ith  the 

ready 

Baron 

lis  de- 

which 

at  the 

the  as- 

to  his 

mind, 

iiilolph. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

Thl  spot  where  they  were  being  as  well  adapted  for  their  purpose  as  that 
which  they  had  just  quitted,  the  friends  reseatetl  themselves,  and  within  a 
few  yards  of  the  bleeding  body  of  Cieur-de-fer.  The  bead  of  the  ruffian 
lay  at  the  opjiosite  side  of  the  winding  pathway,  and  with  the  face  turned  to- 
wards them,  looking,  in  the  moonlight,  horrible  in  its  ghastliness  and  fixed- 
ness of  feature.  While  Rudolph,  now  fully  awakened  from  his  slumber, 
lightly  held  his  recovered  palfrey,  the  friends  had  the  bridles  of  their 
chargers  carelessly  thrown  over  their  arms.  Both  remarked  that,  although 
the  war  steed  of  the  Monk  was  the  stronger  animal,  and  usually  capable  of 
enduring  the  greatest  fatigue,  he  now  appeared  jaded  and  sluggish,  while 
Beheil.on  the  contrary,  manifested  a  vivacity  and  eagerness  almost  nruiatural 
ill  A  charger,  that  had  byen  ridden  over  a  hard-fought  battle  field  during  the 
whole  of  the  preceding  day.  The  tossing  of  bis  head,  the  chiUTiping  of  bis 
l)it,  the  pawing  of  his  forefeet  was  incessant,  while  as  he  (  ver  and  anon 
niched  his  neck,  the  moonbeams  which  fell  upon  his  eyes  diseoverd  there  a 
fire  which,  combined  with  the  recklessness  of  action  of  his  body,  inarkei!  the 
hot  hlood  then  raging  in  his  veins. 

"Truly,"  observed  the  Monk-Knight,  '•  some  demon  of  necromancy  must 
have  entered  into  your  noldn  steixl.  I)e  Boiscourt.  Few  horses  come  tjius 
out  of  such  an  onslaught  as  thai  in  which  we  were  yesterdaj  engaged. 
Would  that  mine  were  in  the  same  condition  U)  undergo  the  vast  test  whif-h 


If    r 


52 


THK    MON'k"    KNUiliT    oy    ST.    JOHN. 


it 


will  devolve  on  both,  ere  the  next  rising  sun  shall  have  set.     Beloeil  looks  as 
if  a  dancing  Bacchus  were  in  his  veins." 

"How  stupid  of  rue,"  replied  the  Baron.  "  Like  you,  I  have  been  en- 
deavoring to  trace  the  cause  of  his  excited  action,  and  seeking  in  vain  the 
solution  ;  but  your  last  remark  reminds  me.  The  fact  is,  Abdallah,that  my 
thoughts  have  been  so  exclusively  devoted  to  you  and  to  her,  to  whom  you 
are  only  second  in  my  heart,  that  I  had  utterly  forgotten  having  given  largely 
of  wine  to  Beloeil,  on  the  morning  of  yesterday,  at  starting  from  the  camp." 

"  Of  wine  I"  exclaimed  the  Monk,  with  surprise. 

"  Yes,  of  wine!  and  you  may  imagine  how  absent  I  have  been,  and  how 
completely  immersed  in  my  own  thoughts ;  when  I  add  that  it  was  with  the 
very  object  which  has  been  attained — that  of  sustaining  his  strength  and  im- 
petuosity in  the  charge." 

"  Indeed !  better  then,  that  the  wine  of  which  I  have  ])artaken  so  abun- 
dantly, should  have  been  shared  with  mine,"  returned  the  Monk,  seriously. 
"This  jaded  steed  will  not,  I  fear,  stand  throughout  the  fatigue  of  to-morrow, 
nor  is  that  surprising.  He  has  hui'  more  ti\an  usual  service  to  his  share 
yesterday,  for  even  before  the  commencement  of  the  great  battle  of  Ti- 
berias, which  we  are  to  conclude  this  day,  had  he  been,  for  hours,  trampling 
down  and  burying  his  fetlocks  in  the  thickened  gore  of  the  Moslem." 

"  Ha  !  now  I  understand  ;  .some  s\idden  and  secret  enterprize  was  planned 
by  the  (Jrand  Master,  and  you  were  summoned  suddenly  to  the  council. 
Hence  your  seeming  neglect  of  your  friend." 

"  Your  surmise  is  correct,"  returned  Abdallah.  "  A  few  brief  sen""'; 
will  inform  you  of  all.  Know,  then,  that  about  two  hours  before  the  da' 
yesterday,  a  messenger  came  apprisses  me  of  the  intention  of  the  (...,...« 
Miister  to  force  the  wells  of  the  Saracens  at  the  head  of  three  hundred  chosen 
knights,  both  of  St.  .Tohn  and  of  the  Temple.  His  instructions  were  to  com- 
mand my  immediate  appearance.  Quickly  as  my  war-horse,  already  equipped, 
could  be  brought  to  me,  1  started  at  his  fullest  speed,  and  joined  the  warlike 
array  of  my  comrades.  Three  hundred  camels,  provided  with  skins  and 
other  receptacles  for  water,  sufficient  to  refresh  the  whole  of  the  Crusaders, 
before  crossing  the  plain  and  giving  battle  to  the  infidels,  were  ordered  to 
follow.  The  point  of  attack  was  nearly  a  mile  from  Saladin's  (diief  encamp- 
ment, near  the  lake.  Onward  we  rushed  like  an  avalanche,  and,  as  we 
approached  the  wells,  we  observed  them  to  he  guarded  by  a  force  of  many 
thousands.  This  was  no  obstacle  to  the  bravery  of  the  Grand  Master,  wlio 
rushed  upon  them,  and  dealt  out  his  blows,  followed  clo.sely  by  his  knights, 
with  a  violence  and  power  almost  superhuman.  But,  alas!  our  efforts  were 
in  vain.  The  Saracen  fanatics  seemed  to  be  .sensible  that  the  safety  of  the 
whole  army  and  of  their  cause  depended  on  our  repulse.  They  fought  with 
determination,  and  yet  not  with  the  reckless  valor  of  the  members  of  the  two 
Orders,  who.se  many  acts  of  heroism  excited  the  admiration  and  wonder  of 
their  foes.  Some,  afler  losing  their  swords  and  battle-axes  in  the  tnel^fi, 
threw  themselves  impetuously  forward,  and  assailed  with  their  mailed  fists. 
Others  drew  forth  the  arrows,  that  were  sticking  in  their  bodies,  and  hurled 
them  back  upon  their  enemies.  .lames  de  Maike,  in  particular,  mounted  on 
his  white  and  noble  charger,  performed  such  prodigies  of  valur,  that  wt)cn 


THE   MONK    KNIGHT    UF    ST.    JOHN. 


53 


he  [ell  at  last,  overpowered  by  numbers,  and  mortally  wounded  ;  his  conquer- 
ors knell  over  his  body  and  tasted  of  his  blood,  not  only  as'a  mark  of  their 
respect  for  his  bravery,  but  in  the  hope  that  tiie  act  might  be  the  means  of 
imparting  to  them  a  portion  of  his  superlminan  courage.  Poor  de  Maillc  I 
with  him  perished  nearly  every  other  knight, — the  L!rand  Master,  another 
'Templar,  and  myself  only  escaping  the  fearful  carnage  of  tlic  day." 

'•  Fearful,  indeed  I''  exclaimed  de  Ijoiscourt,  '■  and  yet,  God  be  thanked, 
you  escaped,  my  friend." 

••  The  loss  was  great,"  returned  the  Monk  ;  '•  but  greater  was  the  loss 
sustaineil  by  our  inability  to  secure  the  wells.  Had  the  camels  been  laden 
from  these,  the  victory  wouhl  have  been  ours  yesterday,  and  Jerusalem 
saved.  ' 

••  \Vc  shall  retrieve  the  day,"  replied  the  young  Knight — "Abdullah, 
you  and  1  shall  avenge  the  past,  by  carrying  carnage,  hand  in  hand,  into  the 
midst  of  the  Moslem  rauks.  But  first  for  our  steeds  ;  Rudolph  I"  turning  to- 
wards the  the  page,  and  in  a  somewhat  elevated  lone. 

"  My  lord."  answered  the  boy,  springing  to  his  feet. 

"  Are  you  ((uite  certain  that  the  second  flask  in  your  pannier  is  untouched  ?" 

'•  Our  virgin  lady  be  praised,  it  is,"  returned  the  l»agf',  after  having  shaken 
the  flask  for  about  the  fifth  time,  since  the  death  of  (.'auu-de-Fer,  to  satisfy 
himself  of  the  fact. 

"  Good,  boy,  we  shall  want  it  presently  ;  tarry  yet  where  you  are." 

"  Ah  !  these  arc  brave  tidings,"  observed  the  Monk  Knight,  nxultingly 
"  Now,  then,  for  death  or  victory  to-morrow — .Jerusalem  saved  or  Jerusalem 
lost  !" 

'•  .Say  not  deatli,  Abdallah,"  returned  his  friend,  grasping  his  arm  almost 
fiercely.     "  Remember  Ernestina." 

"  The  loved  of  her  adoring  spouse,"  said  the  Monk,  slightly  affecled 
by  the  wine,  while  a  deep  flush  stole,  at  the  ■  -•und  of  that  name,  over  his  calm 
and  noble  features. 

"  The  wife  of  a  holy  Monk — uf  a  father  of  the  Church!"  repeated  the 
Baron,  in  a  low  but  earnest  whisper.  "  Tell  me,  Abdallah,  do  you  repent 
your  promise  !  would  you  recall  your  pledge  !" 

••Repent!  recall!  Ue  Boiscourt ;  no,"  answered  the  Monk,  with  an 
intensity  of  manner  he  had  never  before  betrayed.  "  I  have  promised — I 
sh-iil  fulfill." 

••  11a,  dear  Abdallah — say  you  so?  Repeat  it  to  me.  Tell  me  again  th-at 
in  the  event  of  my  fall,  the  first  violation  of  the  monkish  vow  of  forty  years, 
shall  be  at    the  feet  of  my  Firnestina." 

"  Ue  Boiscourt,"  returned  the  Monk,  even  more  excited  in  his  tone  and 
bearing.  •'  Who  sows  the  whirlwind  must  expect  to  reap  the  storm.  For 
forty  years,  as  you  have  said,  has  the  fierce  fiend  of  lust  lain  dormant  within 
my.  Believe  not  that  it  was  extinct.  It  only  slept.  You  have  studied  hard, 
my  friend,  to  awaken  it,  and  you  have  succeeded.  That  Madonna  you  have 
paiiued — that  sweet  Ernestina  must  and  shall  be  mine.  Since  our  conver- 
sation of  the  past  day  but  one, -my  vows  have  become  a  burden  to  me,  and 
Bhould  you  fall,  wliich  God  and  my  deep  friendship  for  you  forbid,  1  shall 
renounce  my  vows,  and  take,  -as  my  bride,  the  wife  of  my  friend.     Yes,  de 


I 


1      I 


!   i: 


I 


61 


TflK    MO.NK"    KNlliHT    0!'    NT.    JOHN. 


I 


n:    . 


-  h' 


r 


Boiscourt.  Ill  ihe  rich  l;i|)  of  ilit;  iiiulchlcs.s  beauty  of  tliat  divine  woman, 
whicli  I  t'vcii  now  .si;t'  rcvniilcd  in  sutrh  perfection  ;i.s  Kve  was  finst  created 
in,  will  1  pimr  forth  the  lionndiess  ir.msport  of  my   endurin^f  love." 

"  Wlial  a  picture  I"  exclaimed  the  Baron,  impetuously.  "  Would  that  it 
were  now,  (or  1  admit  no  joy,  no  Wli.ss  on  earth,  so  irreat  as  that  of  witnessing 
tlie  permitted  hapj)iness — the  intense  devotion  of  her  whom  wc  adore,  and 
wear  in  our  soul  of  souls.  If  there  is  anything  in  man  wliich  partakes  of  the 
Divine  essence  it  is  that.  The  total  .sacrifice  of  self  involved  in  the  prin- 
ciple has  in  it  somethinij  more  than  human," 

"  Abdallah," — pursued  the  Uaron,  inquiringly,  his  cheek  burning  with  the 
feverish  excitement  of  his  noble  .soul — '"  all  this  you  will  do,  if  I  fall." 

"  All,  de  Boiscourt — more." 

"  But,  recollect,"  returned  the  Baron  smiling,  not  unless  my  fate  be  certain." 

"  Ah  I  fear  me  not,"  returned  the  Monk,  composedly ;  "  only  as  the  hus- 
band of  the  Lady  Ernestina  can  1  possess  her — in  madness  and  in  intensity — 
in  all  the  wild  transport  of  our  mutually-desiring  souls,  will  I  possess  her,  but 
still  as  my  wife.  I  take  no  joy  in  illicit  dalliance.  Love  is  the  more  powerful 
— the  more  soul-absorbing,  as  I  conceive  the  passion  to  exist,  when  it  becomes 
d'vine  and  purified  by  the  holy  rites  of  the  Church." 

"  And  yet  you  will  possess  her  before  those  rites  have  sanctioned  the 
fires  that  will  consume  you  both?" 

"  I  will ;  but  only  in  order  that  Ernestina  may  revel  once  more  in  fancy  in 
the  arms  of  her  noble  de  Boiscourt.  That  night  shall  she  share  again  the 
love  of  her  gallant  husband.  The  betraying  dawn  shall  give  her  to  me  un- 
shackled by  any  tie,  and  in  the  unrestrained  fulness  of  her  awakened  and 
newaffectionThe  nuptial  benediction  "shall  follow,  ere  another  sun  goes  down; 
the  second  night  she  shall  press  a  second  husband  to  her  arms." 

"  You  will  renounce  your  vows,  then,  if  I  fall?" 

"  I  have  sworn  it,"  replied  the  Monk. 

"  And  should  they  accept  them  not  ?" 

"  Then  will  I,  by  absenting  myself  from  my  Order,  prove  the  deep  passion 
that  fills  my  whole  being  for  your  peerless  wife,  de  Boiscourt.  Should  you 
unhappily  fall,  nothing,  save  death  itself,  shall  keep  me  from  her  arms." 

The  friends  clasped  each  other  in  warm  and  affectionate  embrace,  and 
during  the  silence  that  followed,  the  minds  of  both  were  filled  with  intense 
emotion  :  the  one,  in  the  prospect  of  possessing  a  woman  whose  beauty  had, 
for  the  first  time,  excited  his  brain  and  inflamed  his  blood  ;  the  other,  in  the 
anticipation  of  unspeakable  gratification  in  knowing  that  the  adored  wife  of 
his  love  would  not  be  left  desolate  in  her  widowhood,  but  know  even  greater 
happiness  in  the  arms  of  his  friend  than  she  had  ever  shared  with  him. 

"  And  now,  of  this  I  speak  for  the  last  time,"  said  Abdallah,  calmly. 
"  Let  events  guide  our  future  course.  If  I  fall,  Ernestina  is  still  your  own  ; 
yet,  say  to  her  in  your  moments  of  tenderest  abandonment,  that  even  as  a 
brother  prizes  a  grace-adorned  sister  more  than  all  of  womankind  beside,  so 
I  thought  of  her,  so  I  adored  her.  But  if,  dear  friend,  the  adverse  tide  of 
accident  be  yours,  (and  some  foreboding  tells  me  that  to-morrow's  sun  will 
darken  over  the  death-slumbering  form  of  one  of  us,)  then  will  1  outstrip  the 
winds  themselves  to  pour  the  oil  of  consolation  in  her  soul,  and  make  her 


^ 


■•'* 


THE   MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


05 


mine  for  ever.  And,  though  invisible,  you  shall  be  present  lu  spirit. 
Listen,  de  Boiscourt :  no  indulgence  of  our  overwhelming  passion  shall  find  its 
vent  unless  your  name  be  invoked — your  image  summoned  to  sanction  and 
approve  it.  Nay — no,  more !"  he  added,  seeing  that  his  friend  was  about  to 
reply — "  Hark  !  the  trumpets  to  piepare  for  battle." 

And  now,  throughout  those  wild  and  clustered  rocks,  around  and  within 
whose  depths  the  Christian  force  had  passed  the  sleepless  night  in  dreamy 
visions  of  cool  streams,  and  purling  brooks,  and  crystal  fountains,  only  to  mock 
their  palates,  like  the  cheating  mirage  of  the  desert,  rose  far  and  wide  the 
ehrill  sounds  which  called  them  to  do  battle  for  the  safety  of  the  beloved 
Jerusalem.  The  shrill  atabals,  and  camel-mounted  drums  of  the  Moslems, 
responded  to  the  cry,  and  fast  the  gathering  ranks  of  either  army  swelled 
into  the  order  which  had  been  assigned  to  them. 

"  The  full  flask,  Rudolph,"  said  the  Baron,  springing  to  his  feet,  "  the 
untasted  Cyprus;  I  trust  it  may  be  the  last  I  shall  taste  in  Palestine." 

*'  Grod  forbid  ! "  replied  the  page  sadly,  as  he  handed  the  wine.  "  Ah  !  my 
lord,  why  that  cruel  wish !     Consider  the  Lady  Ernestina." 

"  It  is  because  I  do  consider  her,  boy,"  said  the  knight  gaily,  as  alter 
having  taken  the  bottle,  he  passed  it  to  the  Monk. 

Rudolph's  look  betrayed  his  surprise. 

"  Dear  child,  should  I  fall  this  day  I  commit  you  to  Abdallah,  and  to  the 
Lady  Ernestina,  whom  you  love  so  much.  You  are  an  orphan,  and  they 
will  adopt  you.' 

"  They  will  adopt  rae?"  half  questioned  the  boy  through  his  trickling 
tears.  "  Will  the  noble  Monk  Abdallah  then  live  with  the  Lady  Ernes- 
tinal" 

"  As  her  confessor,"  returned  the  Baron,  impressively,  while  he  cast  a 
look,  full  of  meaning,  on  his  friend.  "  Well,  Abdallah,  now  that  we  have 
again  cooled  our  thirst  and  warmed  us  for  the  combat,  let  not  our  noble 
steeds  be  forgotten.     Rudolph,  the  other  Hask." 

The  page  handed  the  flask  which  had  been  first  opened,  and  into  this  the 
Baron  poured  half  the  contents  of  the  other.  He  then,  as  he  had  done  on 
the  preceding  morning,  applied  the  flask  to  the  mouth  of  the  Monk's  steed 
thrown  upward,  and  held  tightly  by  him  while  he  emptied  nearly  two-thirds 
of  the  contents  dowr  his  throat.     The  remainder  he  gave  to  Beloeil, 

Thus  prepared,  the  two  Knights  drew  tighter  the  loosened  fastenings  of 
their  steeds,  adjusted  their  own  armor,  and  after  having  again  embraced 
each  other  with  warmth,  mounted  into  the  saddle,  and  separated  to  join 
their  respective  troops.  As  De  Boiscourt  watched  the  departing  form  of 
Abdallah,  he  perceived  that  his  steed,  like  his  own,  was  already  beginning 
to  feel  the  exhilarating  effect  rf  the  wine,  a  portion  of  which  had  been  given 
to  Blondin,  for  his  course  to  the  point  where  lay  the  Knights  of  St.  John 
was  marked  by  a  life  and  earnestness  of  action,  greatly  in  contrast  with  the 
fatigue  and  sluggishness  he  had  evinced  almost  until  dawn. 

"  God  bless  and  preserve  you  this  day!"  murmured  the  Baron,  when,  after 
having  lost  sight  of  his  friend,  he  turned  his  charger  in  the  direction  of  his 
own  men. 


(' 


N 


4 
11 


f'f 


% 


II 


ft» 


THE   MONK   KNIGHT    OF   ST.    JOHN. 


« 


v7 


CHAPTER  XII. 

While  the  Baron  and  the  31onk- Knight  are  preparing  to  engage  in 
the  struggle  in  which  the  fate  of  Chrifitemlom  in  Asia  depended,  let  us 
for  a  moment  transport  the  reader  in  imagination  to  the  far-distant  cha- 
teau of  the  former,  in  sunny  Auvergiip,  wliore  lingors  in  her  widowhood 
the  subject  of  their  deep  interest  ;uid  conviTs.ition — the  Lady  Ernestina. 

It  was  night — that  very  night  when  the  friends  held  their  glowing 
converse  in  the  heart  of  the  rocks  that  swept  :iround  Tiberias.  A  large 
wood  fire  blazed  on  the  hearth  of  the  outer  cliamber  which  adjoined  the 
bedroom,  and  to  which  allusion  has  been  already  made.  The  furniture 
was  in  keeping  with  the  age.  The  wooden  panels  of  dark  and  polished 
oak — the  massive  tables,  and  high-backed  chuiri?  of  the  same  material, 
■were  elaborately  carved,  the  latter  bearing,  within  a  scroll  on  their  back*, 
the  arms  of  the  de  Boi.scourts.  The  windows  wi-re  Gothic,  and  shaded  by 
curtains  of  rich  red  velvet,  bordered  with  embroidery,  which  threw  a 
cheerful  though  softened  light  over  the  other wisic  sombre  apartment. 
The  floor,  polished  like  the  furniture,  was  formed  of  thin  small  inlaid 
blocks  of  wood  of  an  octagon  shape.  The  luxury  of  a  carpet  was  un- 
known, but  small  neat  mats,  made  of  stained  rushes,  and  bordered  with 
fringe  of  the  same  color  with  the  curtains,  were  distributed  about  the 
room.  Against  three  sides  of  the  chamber  were  placed  as  many  enor- 
mous mirrors  of  polished  steel,  set  in  frames  of  ebony,  richly  carved  and 
emblaaoned  also,  and  extending  from  the  coiling  to  the  floor.  These, 
with  a  high-backed,  sloping,  and  rather  ample  arm-chair,  and  a  richly- 
ornamented  escritoire,  composed  the  principal  furniture  of  the  apartment. 
The  bedroom  was  furnished  in  a  similar  manner,  with  the  addition  of  a 
large  bed.stead  of  ebony,  from  the  ample  top  of  which  depended  hang- 
ings of  red  also.  The  door  of  communication  was  on  the  right  of  the 
black  marble  tiled  hearth. 

The  Lady  Ernestina  entered  the  first  chamber,  with  a  silver  lamp  in 
one  hand  and  a  bundle  of  parchmei^.t  in  the  other.  She  placed  the  for- 
mer on  the  table  which  was  nearest  the  fauteil,  and,  with  a  pre-occupied 
bur  !  y  no  means  dissatisfied  air,  approaclied  the  fireplace,  and  leaned 
h'^r  liead  thoughtfully  against  the  mantel.  Her  figure,  in  that  attitude, 
was  imposing.  Measuring  at  least  five  feet  si.v  inches  in  height,  she. 
was  moulded  in  the  most  exquisite  style  of  fe*-  ^le  proportion.  Her 
waist,  althougli  not  particularly  small,  was  in  e.  ■  harmony  of  grace 
with  her  swelling  hips,  which  displayed  themselves  symmetrically  at 
every  movement  of  her  body.  It  was  evident  that  her  leg  was  superb, 
for  the  short  petticoat  which,  in  accordance  with  the  fasliion  of  the  day, 
Bhe  wore  of  rich  velvet,  bordered  with  lace  of  the  rarest  kind,  suffered  a 
portion  of  its  symmetry  to  be  seen.  This,  at  least  what  was  seen  of  it, 
as  she  leaned  forward  against  the  mantel-piece,  was  of  exquisite  fulness 
and  formation.     Her  foot  was  a  perfect  model,  so  rounded  and  delicate 


I 


I 


'    :m 


THE   MONK   KNIGHT   OF    ST.    JOHN. 


57 


•were  its  linet  of  curvature,  and  in  the  black  relvet  sandals  which  she 
wore  with  rosettes,  tightly  laced  around  the  taper  ankle,  would  of  itself 
have  quickened  the  blood  of  the  most  ascetic.  Nor  was  her  hand  more 
deficient  than  her  foot  in  the  smallness  and  elegance  of  its  proportions. 
The  fingers  were  taper,  and  tipped  with  nails  of  a  pink  color,  which 
contrasted  pleasingly  with  the  whiteness  of  hov  skin.  Her  arm  was  a 
study  for  the  sculptor.  It  was  round,  full,  smooth,  and  of  exquisite  pro- 
portion, which  the  full  short  sleeve  of  her  crimson  bodice,  trimmed  with 
the  same  embroidery  as  that  on  the  jupou  or  petticoat,  admirably  set  off 
and  developed.  Her  bosom,  half  seen  above  the  low-cut  bodice,  and 
also  of  an  eblouissant  fairness,  was  full  and  streaked  with  purple  veins  of 
such  clearness  that  thev  ■  embled  the  soft  blue  of  an  Italian  sky  visible 
.at  intervals  in  the  w.  t.^  and  fleecy  clouds  of  autumn.  This  was  a  por- 
tion of  her  enchanting  oeauty  which  the  Lady  Ernestina  well  knew  was 
a  chef  iTauvre  of  Nature,  for,  with  the  exception  of  the  gossamer-textured 
lace,  no  pains  had  been  taken  to  shadow  or  conceal  it.  Her  throat  was 
white  and  of  swan-like  grace  of  motion — her  chin  dimpled — and  her  nose 
strictly  Grecian  in  its  character.  Her  eyes  were  blue,  large,  and  ex- 
pressive, and  conveyed  the  feelings  of  the  woman  whose  heart  is  the 
abode  of  the  warmest  and  most  generous  feelings  of  her  sex.  Her  eye- 
brows were  full  and  arched,  and  of  somewh.it  lighter  color  than  her  hair. 
This  latter  was  of  a  dark  rich  chestnut,  and  exceedingly  luxuriant  and 
glossy.  It  was  folded  many  times,  in  a  sort  of  club,  round  the  back 
of  her  head,  and  where  the  mass  turned  upwards  from  her  beautiful 
neck,  not  a  straggling  hair  was  to  be  seen.  When  the  whole  was  loos- 
ened, and  suffered  to  fall  by  its  own  weight,  it  exhibited  a  redundancy 
not  to  be  exceeded  even  in  the  long-haired  daughters  of  Spain,  for  as  it 
spread  itself  wide  over  the  polished  back  and  shoulders,  it  preserved  the 
same  fulness  until  it  reached  the  calf  of  the  leg.  To  crown  all  this  dazzling 
beauty,  the  Lady  Ernestina  had  very  wl\ite  teeth,  and  a  mouth  so  sweet- 
ly, tenderly,  yet  chastely  voluptuous  in  its  expression,  that  the  blood  of 
the  listener  thrilled  as  he  drank  in  the  soft  and  melodious  accents  that 
flowed  from  it  tremulously,  and  as  if  half  distrusting  their  own  j^wer. 
She  was  in  the  fully-budded  flower  of  womanhood — at  that  age  when 
passion  is,  with  the  refined  in  feeling,  not  the  gross  sensuality  which 
priests  pronounce  it  to  be,  but  a  divine  emanation  from  the  God  who 
created  woman,  that  he  might  have  the  delight  of  contemplating 
the  intensity  of  emotion  he  had  implanted  in  the  bosom  of  the  last 
and  most  perfect  of  his  creatures.  The  Lady  Ernestina  was  five-and- 
twenty — that  voluptuous  age  when,  in  the  sex,  the  passions  first  attain 
the  perfection  of  development ;  and  seven  of  these  years  had  she  been 
the  adored  wife  of  a  husband  who  loved  her  with  such  intensity  that  his 
imagination  was  ever  seeking  to  infuse  some  new  and  exciting  idea  into 
her  soul. 

For  a  few  minutes  the  Lady  Ernestina,  with  a  bosom  heaving,  and  a 
cheek  glowing  from  her  own  thoughts,  raised  her  head  from  her  sup- 
porting arm  on  the  mantel,  and  with  the  parchment  scrolls  in  her  hand, 


!■  'I 


y 


68 


THE   MONK    KNIGHT    OK    sT.    JOHN. 


[t 


V  \ 


approached  the  table  on  which  she  had  placed  the  lamp.  Selecting  one 
of  these  which,  from  the  newness  of  the  silk  which  encircled  it,  appeared 
to  be  the  most  recent  of  arrival,  she  untied  the  cord  and  unfolded  it. 
As  she  read,  the  blood  mounted  still  higher  on  her  cheek,  and  her  full 
bosom  heaved  as  if  it  would  have  burst  asunder  the  stomacher  which 
covered  it.  She  read  to  the  close,  and  then  she  pressed  the  parchment 
warmly  to  her  lips.  This  done,  she  deposited  it  for  a  moment  at  the 
side  of  the  others  j  then,  with  fervently  clasped  hands  and  eyes  upraised 
to  Heaven,  suffered  tears  of  intense  happiness  to  course  down  her 
cheeks  and  trickle  upon  her  lap.  When  this  delicious  paroxysm  of  silent 
but  tearful  joy  was  over,  a  voluptuous  calm  crept  over  her  features,  and 
she  again  took  up  the  letter,  which,  the  more  to  impress  the  value  and 
sweetness  of  its  contents  upon  her  memory,  she  read  aloud  to  herself. 
Thus  ran  that  part  which  the  most  affected  her : 

"  Still,  amid  all  the  privations  I  endure  at  being  so  long  absent  from 
the  arms  of  the  beloved  of  my  heart,  1  am  much  consoled  not  only  by  the 
recollection  of  what  the  great  beauty  and  the  goodness  of  my  Ernes- 
tina  are,  but  by  the  thought  that  another  than  myself — a  noble  and  a 
matchless  other — shall  know  that  goodness  and  that  beauty  also.  Who 
holds  a  gem  of  price,  and  fails  to  show  its  dazzling  lustre  to  his  friend, 
that  he  may  share  in  worship  of  its  value,  is  most  selfish  and  unworthy 
to  possess  ^the  treasure.  That  am  I  not.  Ernestina,  dear  Ernestina, 
does  not  your  woman's  fancy  paint  the  ardor  of  the  powerful,  the  majes- 
tic Abdallah,  to  whom  I  speak  of  you  in  such  glowing  terms,  that  the 
chaste  calm  Monk,  whom  passion  has  never  yet  seduced  to  woman's 
mystic  love,  half  maddens  secretly  with  thoughts  his  vows  disown  ?  If 
not  as  yet.  then  straightway  do.  Imagine  him,  when  your  loving  Alfred 
is  no  more,  losing  all  reverence  for  his  monastic  pledge,  and  fiercely 
wooing,  with  noble  brow  and  countenance  serene,  unto  your  nuptial  bed 
— not  as  one  hackneyed  in  the  world's  cold  ways,  that  turn  the  holiness 
of  passion  to  the  brutal  lust  of  beasts,  but  as  an  impersonation  of  all  the 
divine  fire  that  filled  the  father  of  oar  race,  when  first  the  adored  God 
unveiled  to  him  the  peerless  beauty  of  his  last  created  and  desiring  Eve. 

"  You,  who  so  well  can  know  and  judge  my  thoughts,  dear  Ernestina, 
sweet  friend  and  sole  possessor  of  my  faithful  heart,  can  feel  with  me  the 
luxury  of  that  most  holy  confidence  which,  yearning  to  impart  in  the 
ravished  ear  of  each  the  most  secret  workings  of  the  soul,  whispers 
forth,  with  trembling  words  and  burning  looks,  such  wanderings  of  the 
imagination  that  soul  entwines  with  soul  in  mystic  bonds,  no  time,  no 
accident  can  weaken  or  efface.  Knowing  this,  loved  Ernestina,  you 
sweeter  half  of  our  united  one,  make  then  your  lesser  half  your  friend 
and  confidant.  Confide  to  me  the  dear,  dear  secret  of  your  bosom.  Tell 
me,  tliat  although  you  love  me,  as  well  I  know  you  do^  with  all  the  en- 
prgy  of  a  devoted  heart,  you  scarcely  love  Abdallah  less ; — say  that  your 
trusting  soul  has  been  so  tutored  to  a  new  delight,  that  it  has  gently 
opened  to  receive  a  second  husband,  and  swells  with  joyous  pride  to 
think  its  aliment  of  love  sufficient  for  them  both.     Confess  that  now  to 


I'HK    .MONK    KNKiHT    Ol     > T.    JOHN. 


59 


dwell  nil  tliirs,  ;iii(i  now  on  lliiit.  uiihl  tin  hnatinnf  pulses  riot  in  llic  very 
llioiitflii  of  bliss  your  caresses  can  ywU  to  both,  is  what  your  generouK 
f'unry  mostly  likns  to  dwell  upon.  Kvimi  did  the  nianneis  of  thts  tiiiios  ;u 
home  reslriiin  the  free  indulgence  of  the  sweetest  bliss  that  Heaven  can 
yield  to  man,  let  us  but  take  example  t'luin  the  Moslem  race,  in  all  reli- 
gious practices  more  strict  than  ours.  In  this,  the  Holy  Land,  a  dozen 
wives  at  least  adorn  each  chieftain's  tent,  and  yield  him  solace  from  the 
toils  of  war.  Then  think,  if  such  privile;,n'  he  taken  by  that  ruder  sex, 
which  arrogates  the  sole  right  of  infidelity  to  one,  how  woitbi'er  and  ail 
devoid  of  wrong  is  she — the  dedicate  and  fair — who  presses  to  her  throb- 
bing heart  the  friend  of  her  only  liege  who  urges  her  to  hap|)ine8s. 
Perish  the  hope  of  future  peace  with  me  when  iny  fond  soul  finds  not 
gladness  in  the  thought  that  the  all  loveliness  ol'  my  l'"-riiestina  shall  be 
ay  freely  abandoned  to  him  who  best  can  prize  it,  as  to  myself.  'Twere 
worse  than  agony  to  think  Abdallah  should  not  share  the  sweetness  of  your 
affections,  even  as  I,  beloved,  have  shared  it. 

"  Tell  me,  sweet  Ernestina,  that  this  is  no  strange  picture  which  1  draw 
for  you — tell  me  that,  in  the  lonely  hours  of  night,  you  think  of  him — that 
chaste  but  still  desiring  Monk-Knight  of  St.  John — that  in  your  dreams  you 
yield  and  take  such  happiness  in  his  loving  arms,  ;is  in  your  waking  hours 
you  pine  to  find  is  but  a  cheat.  Tell  me  that,  when  your  beauteous  limbs  lie 
restless  in  your  widowed  sheets,  your  sweet  and  parted  lips  pronounce  his 
name  with  mine,  and  that  in  thought — for  what  of  ill  from  simple  thought 
can  spring? — you  press  the  holy  warrior  in  your  arms,  in  thankfulness  for 
deeds  performed  in  favor  of  your  spouse. 

"  Much,  as  you  know,  have  I  studied  to  enslave  Abdallah  to  your 
charms.  It  is  with  me  great  source  of  joy  to  think  that  fate,  forbidding 
by  my  death  all  hope  of  fond  re-union  with  my  Ernestina,  he  the  loved 
friend — the  sharer  of  my  toils  and  of  my  heart's  affection,  should  surfeit 
him  ill  the  fulness  of  your  gorgeous  love,  and  so  succeed  me  in  his  lav- 
ishment  of  adoration,  that  thought  of  me  should  not  be  source  of  an- 
guish to  your  soul,  but  bring  with  it  most  sweet  and  soft  remembrance 
of  the  past. 

"  As  yet,  the  holy  Monk-Knight  ventures  not  to  speak  tin;  feelings 
which  the  painting  of  your  excellence  creates,  i)ut  though  his  eye  is 
calm,  and  the  high  and  placid  brow,  and  much  benevolence  and  dignity 
of  look,  would  tell  the  stillness  of  his  heart,  there  is  an  under-current 
rising,  which  soon  will  swell  into  an  overboiling  stream  that  nought 
can  stay,  until  it  overleaps  the  strong  barriered'  chastity  itself.  Say  what 
he  may  in  virtue  of  his  vows — act  as  he  deems  most  rigidly  in  keeping 
with  his  monkish  character,  the  pulses  of  Abdallah  are  swelling  with  a 
growing  fire  for  you,  that  will  soon  or  late  burst  from  its  cells,  and  like 
the  wild  blast  consume  wherever  it  descends.  I  watch  with  care  the 
moment  of  explosion,  and  thus  it  is  1  wish  you  to  convey  to  me  in  truth- 
ful language  your  fullest  evidence  of  regard  for  him— your  desire  to  be- 
come his  wile— and  his  alone,  should  the  blood  of  your  Alfred,  as  much 
I  think  it  will,  help  to  fatten  the  corse-filled  fields  of  Palestine.     What 


60 


THE   MONK    KNIOHT   OF   >T.    JOHN. 


-   i 


next  results  from  this  my  dear,  dear  Ernestina  shall  know.     In  the  mean 
time  God  and  the  Virgin  preBPrve  you  in  all  health  and  lovelineis." 

The  I/uly  Eriiegtina  beeume  more  and  more  excited  with  each  suc- 
ceedinj;  line  of  this  remarkable  letter.  She  foUlod  the  parchment  care- 
fully, and  replaced  it  on  the  table.  Then  rising,  she  sank  on  her  kneeo 
before  the  fiuteuil,  and  with  clasped  hand  and  with  eyes  upturned  to 
Heaven,  wept  abunilantly,  almost  hysterically.  For  nearly  twenty  nvin- 
utea  she  remained  thus.  At  length,  when  the  excess  of  her  deep  emo- 
tion for  h'T  adon'd  and  generous  husband  had  passed  away,  she  rose, 
pelted  herself  ii\  the  chair,  and  again  clasping  her  beautiful  hands  and 
uprai.-ing  her  eyes  to  Heaven,  luxuriated  more  calmly  in  the  indulgence 
of  the  feelinu's  by  which  slie  was  beset.  Never  did  woman  experience 
sucli  tlelicii)iisness  of  rapture.  Her  being  thrilled  throughout  every  pore 
with  a  dreamy  voluptuousness  not  to  be  described,  and  varied  and  pleas- 
ing Wire  the  dilferent  phases  of  her  intoxication  of  soul.  Now  she  felt 
subdued  into  a  tenderness  that  caused  her  tears  to  How  as  if  her  whole 
frame  was  about  to  dissolve  in  softnesa — and  now,  excited  by  the  more 
stinging  passagen  of  the  letter  she  had  just  read,  she  became  so  animat- 
ed  at  the  knowledge  of  having  infused  in  the  Monk  a  burning  desiie  for 
her  beauty,  that  the  blood  mantled  deeper  on  her  cheek,  as,  in  ima- 
gination, admitting  him  to  the  guarded  and  holy  cloister  of  her  love,  she 
murmured  forth  his  name  in  a  delicious  abandonment  of  expression. 
Her  husband's  letter  had  been  written  with  a  view  to  excite  her,  and  it 
had  succeeded  in  the  object.  The  Lady  Ernestina  was  no  married  vir- 
gin to  mi.- understand  the  nature  of  the  overwhelming  happiness  he  liad 
provided  lor  her  in  the  eventof  his  own  fall,  and  she  inwardly  and  deep- 
ly gloried  in  the  possession  of  charms,  which,  if  the  more  description  of 
them  coulil  so  affect  him,  she  well  knew  would  carry  madness  to  his 
heart,  when  fully  unveiled.  Passionate  feeling  crept  over  her — she 
thougiit  tenderly,  fondly  of  her  adored — the  generous,  the  noble  hus- 
band, to  whom  her  pleasure  and  her  happiness  were  far  dearer  than  his 
own,  but  hei  imagination — the  imagination  of  the  wife- conversant  with 
love  in  all  its  pliases — was  even  more  vividly  impressed  with  the  Monk 
— the  wedded  of  the  Church — the  apostle  of  Christ;  in  a  word,  the  stern 
and  indomitable  warrior,  who  rejecting  all  other  women,  and  ignorant 
of  the  mystic  character  of  their  sex,  still  pined  for  herself.  Her  feeling 
was  the  more  intense,  not  only  because  de  Boiscoart  wished  this,  but 
because  her  own  gentle  heart,  encouraged  by  his  sanction,  and  freed 
from  all  artificial  restraint,  found  joy  in  almost  deifying  the  man  who, 
in  thiw  manifesting  his  general  insensibility  to  the  fascinations  of  wo- 
men, so  eminently  exalted  herself. 

The  Lady  Ernestina  rose  from  her  chair.  She  took  a  small  silver  bell 
from  the  escritoir,  and  going  to  the  entrance  of  the  outer  chamber,  rang 
it  gently.  She  then  returned  to  the  table,  took  up  the  parchments,  and 
•with  the  exception  of  that  which  she  had  just  read,  tied  them  up  toge- 
ther and  deposited  them  in  a  drawer  of  the  escritoir,       This  she  locked, 


THE    MONK    KNIOIIT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


»)! 


and  rnmoving  the  k«y,  placed  it  in  one  of  the  embroidered  pockets  (hat 
adorned  her  skiit. 

Soon  a  beautiful  and  blooming  girl  of  about  aixteeu  entered  the  room, 
neatly  dreBsed,  with  dark,  long-fringed  eyes — hair  of  the  same  jetty  hue, 
white  and  cvun  teetli,  a  cuuiitenanco  full  of  softucHH,  iind  features  thiil  in 
their  regularity  defied  all  oriticism.  She  was  of  middle  hei^jht,  round- 
ed in  Hirure,  but  not  so  harmoniously  moulded  as  her  mii-tiegs,  wlioin  shu 
now  respectfully  but  not  servilely  accosted — 

'•  Did  not  my  lady  ring?''  she  asked  in  a  voice  of  mucli  sweetnosB. 

"I  did,  doar  Honrietto.  I  would  retire.  I  know  not  ho.v  it  is,  but  I 
never  felt  so  lonely  since  my  lord's  departure,  as  1  do  to-night.  I  pine 
for  something  to  press  against  my  aching  heart,  uud  still  the  tumult 
that  is  there.     You  must  sleep  with  me,  child.'' 

"  Sleep  with  my  lady  !"'  said  the  blushing  girl,  to  whom  the  privi- 
lege had  never  before  been  accorded. 

"  Eyon  so.  dearest — you  ahall  nestle  in  my  bosom  like  a  diorub,  and 
on  your  sweetness  I  wi^l  bestow  my  love,'' 

'•Thinking  it  is  my  lord,"  said  the  girl,  tremulously;  then,  us  if  con- 
scious that  her  lips  had  uttered  what  her  sense  of  right  condemned — 
Bhe  atlded  hastily,  '  My  lady  received  Utters  from  the  Holy  Land  mc- 
thinks  to-day.     Is  my  lord  in  health  ?" 

"  He  is,  my  pet,  iji  perfect  health  and  kindliness  to  me.  But  ah  !  that 
tell-tale  blush,  my  Henriette.  You  would  ask  of  Rudolph.  He  too  is 
well,  and  sends  his  love  to  both." 

"Oh,  I  don't  care  about  him,''  confusedly  replied  the  blushing  girl, 

"Fie,  Henriette,"  and  she  clasped  her  hand  with  intense  fondness— 
"  you  care  a  little  for  my  Alfred.  Confess,  confess  your  secret  to  me. 
In  me  yon  will  not  find  a  jealous  wife  to  chide  you.  Do  Boiscourt's  heart 
is  generous,  open  as  the  day,  and  well  may  justify  your  love,  I'll  spare 
a  corner  in  it  to  you." 

"  Ah,  dear  lady,"  exclaimed  the  astonished  girl,  dropping  on  her 
knees  and  covering  the  outstretched  hand  of  the  Lady  Ernestiiia  with 
mingled  tears  and  kisses — "how  shall  I  repay  this  goodness?  Yes,  you 
have  divined  my  secret.  I  love  the  noble  Baron — but  love  him  as  a  sis- 
ter should." 

"  Nor  shall  your  love  be  vain,  sweetest.  Now  rise,  dear  Henriette. 
When  you  lie  nestling  in  these  arms,  and  your  sweet  face  is  pillowed 
on  my  shoulder,  then  shall  we  speak  of  this.  Now  to  undress  me, 
which  service  being  performed,  I  shall  alike  do  handmaiden  for  my 
Henriette," 

The  Lady  Ernestina  stood  before  one  of  the  large  mirrors  of  the  dress- 
ing-chamber, and  as  now  her  bodice,  and  now  her  skirt,  and  then  in 
slow  succession  each  article  of  drapery  fell,  under  the  hands  of  her 
charming  assi.-jtant,  from  her  beauteous  form,  she  ottered  a  picture  of  ra- 
vishment to  the  blushing  girl,  that  not  the  strong  timidity  of  her  nature 
could  prevent  her  heart  from  beating,  or  her  lips  from  caressing  the 
galaxy  of  charms  which  daizled  her. 


62 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    CiF    ST.    JOHN. 


^Hji 


" 


^>i' 


fir 

.A 


"  Ah,  my  denrfBt  Indy,"  she  murmured,  "'  how  boautitul  you  are. 
Yot  Bomnthiiii,'  i"*  wautinir  still  to  cotnpleto  the  picture  of  your  h)v«li- 
ncHrt.  I.i't  rui'  unUiost'  the  full  voUuno  of  your  speak  in;,'  liair.  Lot  me 
behold  for  the  hrst  time  the  perfoction  of  ^'riifo  in  ono  of  my  own  sex." 

"  Flatti^riT !"  said  the  HaronesK,  as  she  siniloil  hor  consent,  and 
looked  teiiilcrly  upon  the  mirror,  wide  tho^'entle  Henrifttc.  withllushed 
cheek  .uui  trcmblini;  hands,  and  feeiinf^s  new  and  indescribable,  proceed- 
ed to  unfa.>*ton  the  club,  secured  on  the  back  of  the  head  by  three  strong 
exquisitely  wiouijht  iJTolden  pins,  so  fasliioned  and  arranged  as  to  com- 
pose a  jhiir-de-lis.  At  lerif-th  that  ifreatest  and  most  excitin;,' ornament 
which  God  has  given  to  tiie  most  favored  of  His  daughters,  was  ilepriv- 
ed  of  its  support,  and  fold  after  folil  tumbletl  heavily,  uncoiling  itself  as 
it  fell,  until  the  extremities  of  the  wavy  whole  rested  within  the  hollow 
of  the  knee. 

'Oh,  how  magnificent!''  exclaimed  the  gratified  girl,  as  she  passed 
the  silver  comb  through  its  meshes  to  lengthen  them.  "  Dear  Lady  Er- 
nestina,  I  know  not  why  or  how  it  is,  but  m)'  delight,  ever  since  I  can 
remember,  has  been  for  such  a  head  of  hair  as  yours.  How  I  love  it  !'' 
she  added  passionately,  '•  how  I  love  her  who  posaesses  it," 

"  More  than  Rudolph,  sweetest?"  and  the  Baroness  imprinted  a  glow- 
ing and  atfectionate  kiss  upon  the  forehead  of  the  enihusiastic  girl. 

"  Oh  yes !  more  than  Rudolph — more  than  any  body  else  in  the  world. 
I  adore  your  beauty.  I  worship  it,  and  it  does  good  to  my  soul.  It 
confirms  my  faith.  It  tells  more  forcibly  than  can  the  words  of  priests, 
that  but  one  solo  and  undivided  God — one  niitchless  and  unapproachable 
Architect — one  comprehensive  Will,  oould  have  framed  a  being  of  such 
perfection  of  beauty  as  yourself.'' 

Struck  by  the  singularity  of  the  young  girl's  language,  the  Lady  Er- 
nestina  regarded  her  earnestly.  Hitherto  she  had  always  looked  upon 
Henriette  as  a  mere  child,  but  here  wai  evidence  of  a  mind  of  extraordi- 
nary depth  and  feeling.  The  gentle  but  ardent  girl  seemed  conscious 
that  she  had  betrayed  herself,  for  when  she  remarked  the  fixed  and  in- 
quiring expression  of  the  Lady  Ernestina's  eye,  her  own  fell  beneath  it, 
and  her  cheek  became  crimson. 

'■  Enthusiast !"  said  the  Baroness,  half-seriously,  half-laughing,  "  then 
you  half  wish  that  you  were  Rudolph,  and  Rudolph  you." 

''  No,  no,  dearest  lady,  for  I  am  quite  sure  I  should  not  love  you  so 
well  wore  I  Rudolph,  as  I  do  now  as  Henriette  de  Gaston— and  why,  oh 
why,  should  not  one  woman  love,  as  passionately  as  a  man,  what  God  ha.s 
made  so  perfect  in  anotlier  ?" 

"  You  will  know  the  ditTcrcnce  when  Rudolph  returns  to  make  you 
his  wife,"  said  the  Lady  Ernestina,  kissing  her ;  '■  and  yet  methinks  there 
is  reason  in  your  remark.  Why  should  not  one  woman  love  another  as 
intensely  as  a  man?  The  result  is  not  the  same,  but  the  sentiment  is 
the  stronger  from  the  very  tenderness  of  our  natures,  and  our  exclusive 
devotion  to  it.  And  now.  loved  Henriette,  let  me  be  yowr  handmaiden." 
Soon  the  young  :'irl.  upon  whom  .she  lavished  much  tenderness  and 


THE    MONK    KNIOHT    OK    M.    JOHN. 


68 


admiration,  an  hIir  unrnbod  her,  ittood,  like  herself,  covered  only  with 
the  short  and  Bnow-wlntu  tunic,  on  which  rcpoNod  the  full  trottaoH  of 
hiT  dark  liair,  rendored  moro  «trikinc;ly  ample  by  tho  contrast. 

The  charms  of  the  youthful  HiJiirintto,  altliouKh  not  to  bo  comparinl 
with  those  of  the  Buront'cs  do  Boiscourt,  wore  still  singularly  attractive, 
and,  as  they  stood  side  by  side,  thoy  mi;jjht  have  been  assimilated,  the 
ono  to  the  mothei  of  t..ovo,  convcrsiiut  with  its  mysteries,  tho  other  to  a 
novice  seeking  initiiition. 

''  And  now  to  bed,  doaroHt,"  said  tho  Lady  Ernostina,  affoctionatoly 
"I  am  really  tired,  and  fai«  would  pillow  ny  head  upon  your  shoul 
der." 

"  Dear  Iiidy,''  urj^ently  entreated  Henriette,  lookin?  imploringly  into 
the  eyes  of  tho  Baroness,  "  you  liave  conferred  ona  great  favor  upon 
me.     Will  you  permit  me  to  ask.  another  ?" 

"  Ask,  child.  I  iim  sur.  I  ciin  lefuse  you  n^  thing — not  even  a  little 
corner  in  a  nearly  wholl)    /re-occupied  heart.  ' 

"  Thank  you  for  that  too,  Lm.y  Eni  stina,  but  I  have  yet  another 
boon  to  ask."  ^ 

"  And  that  is " 

•'  That  you  will  leave  your  hairdov  ii  all  nigl  .  even  m  it  is  now.  I 
will  dress  it  so  neatly  for  you  in  the  morninp,  if  ,   u  do." 

"Willingly,  my  love,"  returned  the  Latl ,  tinostina,  '-if  that  will 
please  you;"  and  then  aj^jain,  struck  ^v  tbis  now  proof  o)  lie  singularity 
of  mind  of  the  young  girl,  she  pre^> Jcd  .i,ier  onoe  more  i  rudorly  to  hei 
heart  and  kissed  her  forehead. 

They  were  in  bed.  Tho  lamp  was  left  burning,  and  shed  its  dius  1";/V 
over  the  apartment.  Henriette  liad  thrown  the  thick  veil  from  the  Lead 
of  her  mistress,  and  then  nestled  clostly  in  tlie  arras  that  encircled  her. 
What  picture  moro  beautiful  !  Many  and  niiuiy  an  o-xprefssive  kiss  thoy 
exchanged,  and  when  later  the  Lad.-  'ilrnestina  awoke  from  her  restless 
slumber,  her  lips  might  be  heard  to  pronounce  softly,  and  in  broken 
accents,  the  name  of  Abdallah. 


tJH  AFTER    XIII. 

ANOTHfiu  siiltrv  dawn,  save  earnest  of  ihe  heat  that  wa-^  to  oppress  the 
hosts  of  Christ  .uul  of  Mahomet,  when  the  »iiu  should  appear  bkc  a  ball  of 
fire  above  ih  t  viist  and  sandy  plain,  the  one  drawn  up  in  battle-array,  and 
awaiiiiiif  the  oiislauijhl  with  refreshed  lips  and  re-invigorated  limbs,  and  con- 
fidence in  their  vatit  superiority  of  number ;  the  other,  filled  with  frantic 
ieal,  and  upheld  l)y  that  strange,  wild  enthusiasm  which  the  very  thought  of 
losiiijr  the  prized  .Jerusalem  was  so  well  calculated  to  produce  and  foster, 
yet.  droopiii-j.  fuintiim  al  e^ery  step,  from  the  fierce  thirst  that  aliuosi  mad- 


->^    ,1 


% 


.         ''I 


64 


THE   MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ^T.    JOHN. 


dened  them.  But  not  the  safety  of  Jerusalem  was  now  tlie  immediate  object 
they  had  in  view.  Each  man  of  that  grim  and  embattled  host,  resoived  to 
force  a  passatje  to  the  lake  to  quench  the  burning  fcvtr  of  his  blood,  even 
though  hecatombs  of  their  own  force  should  fall,  in  forcing  a  passage 
through  the  Moslem  ranks.  Awhile  they  stood  face  to  face,  as  if  desiring, 
yet  fearing  the  issue  of  the  encounter.  But  as  they  gazed,  the  hatred  of  eacli 
for  the  other  became  so  intense,  that  suspense  became  unendurable. 

As  the  sun  rose  above  the  still  and  cloudless  horizon,  the  Christians,  with 
loud  and  fearful  shouts,  which  rent  the  air  for  miles  around,  rushed  upon 
their  detested  foes,  whose  trumpets,  drums  and  atabals  answered  to  the  fierce 
defiiince  a  fiercer  defiance  still.  The  most  prodigious  etlbrts  were  made. 
Each  army  felt  that  the  ascendency  of  their  own  creed — the  triumph  of 
Christianity  or  of  Moslemism — hung  upon  the  events  of  that  day,  and  with 
e(iual  fury,  equal  obstinacy,  they  contended  for  victory. 

The  mailed  knights  carried  death  everywhere  into  the  foemen's  ranks,  and 
their  swords  and  battle-axes  literally  rained  blows  upon  the  heads  of  the 
Saracens  to  whom  they  were  opposed.  Already  had  they  half  succeeded  in 
forcing  their  way  through  the  dense  mass  that  opposed  them,  when  a  wild 
cry  of  triumpii  rose  from  that  part  of  tlie  field  where  the  host  of  interior 
knights  and  men-at-arms,  and  other  foot  soldiers  were  the  most  hotly  en- 
gag(Hl.  They  liad  commenced  their  assault  with  a  fury  not  to  be  surpassed, 
but  faint,  weak,  wholly  unable  to  cope  with  the  more  vigorous  Moslems, 
could  make  no  impression  on  their  battle  order,  but  fell  in  thousands  be- 
fore tlie  gleaming  scimeter  which  mowed  them  down,  even  as  dried  grass 
before  the  scythe.  Dismayed  at  their  loss,  and  despairing  of  success,  they 
forgot  their  resolution  to  reach  the  lake  or  perish  in  the  attempt,  and  turned 
and  fled.  Great  was  the  carnage  which  ensued.  The  swords  and  arrows  of 
the  Moslems  were  dyed  in  the  blood  of  tens  of  thousands  of  the  discomfited 
Christians,  many  of  whom,  flying  for  safely  to  some  precipitouf;  rocks  in  the 
iir mediate  neighborliood,  were  savagely  hurled  from  their  lofty  pinnacles 
upon  the  plain  below,  and  crushed  into  masses  of  shapeless  flesh.  It  was 
the  wild  cry  of  the  victors  in  pursuit  that  now  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
Knights  i-^i'  tlic  Temple  and  of  St.  John,  at  the  very  moment  when  they  had 
looked  upon  their  own  share  of  the  success  of  the  battle  as  complete.  Dis- 
couraged at  the  sight,  they  still  continued  the  contest,  but  the  Moslems  per- 
ceiving tlipir  succpss  at  the  other  extremity  of  the  battle,  gathered  new 
couraffe,  ninl  re  in  fore,  '.  by  masses  detached  by  Saladin  for  the  purpose, 
ilii'ckfil  their  further  advance.  Here  the  action  now  became  terrific.  Thou- 
sands upon  thousands  of  the  choicest  of  th«  Moslem  warriors  fell  beneath  the 
renewed  onslaught  of  the  indomitable  Knights ;  but  human  courage,  even 
here  as.sinning  the  .semblance  of  something  more  than  that  of  mortals,  could 
not  resist  successfully  the  innuense  masses  which  surrounded  and  presssd 
thetn  into  a  c<nTipass,  where  they  could  not  act  without  injury  to  each  other. 
H  'dreds  upon  hundreds  of  slain  Knights,  with  their  steeds,  crimsoned  the 
lieu;  with  the  most  valiant  blood  of  Christian  Palestine,  until  their  numbers 
beea  ;io  so  thinned,  that  further  resistance  was  regarded,  not  only  as  hopeless, 
but  vl::  imp  -  !i!\  for  the  daring  Saracens,  with  upthrown  shields,  received 
the  descmding  blows,  so  that  they  were  finally  made  prisoners  and  d  sarmed. 


i  \ 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT   OF    ST.    JOH^f. 


66 


the 
acles 
was 
the 
had 
Dis- 
per- 
ncw 

OSl'. 

lioii- 
h  the 
oven 
(itihl 
rsssd 
ther. 
I  the 
nbers 
less, 
nvcd 
;nfd. 


The  rout  was  now  complete.  A  lowering  gloom  had  gathered  round  the 
Cross. 

From  the  commencement  of  the  second  day  of  the  fatal  battle  of  Tiberias, 
de  Boiscourt  had  fjiven  instructions  to  his  lieutenant,  de  Pusey,  a  brave 
and  discriminating  utRcer,  liuw  to  conduct  his  men  in  the  event  of  his  fall,  or 
separation  from  them.  It  was  nut,  therefore,  without  a  sentiment  of  satis- 
faction at  his  foresight,  that  he  found  himself  actually  bonie,  in  the  confu- 
sion of  the  conflict,  and  by  the  fierce  impetuosity  of  the  excited  Beloeil,  who 
Ecemcd  to  snifl"  that  air  of  blood  with  delight,  toward  the  gallant  array  of 
the  knights  of  the  Order  already  named.  Singling  out  the  standard  of  St. 
John,  ho  succeeded  in  cutting  his  way  through  to  the  side  of  Abdallah,  whose 
steod  was  also  snorting  with  a  wild  and  unchecked  fury,  while  his  rider 
either  decapitated,  or  severed,  limb  after  limb,  Saracen  after  Saracen,  with 
each  stroke  of  his  sharp  and  heavy  scimeter.  Urging  his  horse  to  the  side 
of  his  friend,  and  thus  mingling  his  battle  with  that  of  the  White  Cross 
Knights,  the  gallant  young  Frenchman  rendered  himself  even  remarkable, 
where  each  was  remarkable  for  his  prowess  and  fearlessness  of  danger. 

At  tlie  moment  when  the  cry  of  the  Moslems  announced  the  defeat  of  the 
Christian  array  on  their  left,  both  he  and  Abdallah  had  stayed  their  arms 
to  behold  the  cause.  The  sight  of  that  scene  was  sufficient  to  decide 
them.  Both  saw,  at  a  glance,  that  the  only  hope  of  retrieving  the  fortunes 
of  the  duy,  was  by  forcing  a  passage  and  coming  round,  like  a  sweeping 
avalanche,  upon  the  pursuing  Moslems,  whose  diversion  in  their  own  defence 
could  alone  afford  the  flying  (Christians  an  opportunity  to  recover  from  their 
panic,  re-form  their  squadrons,  and  renew  the  battle. 

"  To  the  front — to  the  front!"  shouted  Abdallah,  in  full,  clear  tones  ;  and 
heedless  of  the  presence  of  the  Grand  Master  of  the  Templars,  who  had  the 
whole  of  the  knights  in  command. 

"  Where  Abdallah  leads,  there,  by  St.  Denis,  will  the  Baron  of  Auvergrne 
closely  follow." 

"  Ciod,  and  the  Lady  Ernestina!"  cried  Rudolph,  obeying  a  signal  uf  the 
Monk-Knight,  and  spurring  up  his  Blondin  between  him  and  de  Boiscourt. 

•'  (Jod,  and  the  Lady  Ernestina  I"  repeated  the  Monk,  in  a  voice  of  thun- 
der.    "  Knights  of  St.  John  and  of  the  Temple,  forward  !" 

Up  to  this  moment,  from  the  time  the  Saracen  shouts  of  victory  had 
reached  their  ears,  there  had  been  a  sort  of  suspension  of  the  battle  at  this 
immediate  point,  but  when  the  Monk-Knight  first  broke  the  temporary  and 
comparative  truce,  the  contest  was  renewed  in  all  its  fierceness.  Half  mad- 
dened witli  wine  and  excitement,  the  steeds  of  the  fiends,  which  oa«h  suc- 
ceeding moment  rendered  more  impatient  of  the  curb,  now  franticly  leaped 
forward,  obedient  to  the  spur,  the  rowels  of  which  were  buried  in  their 
flanks,  and  crushed  in  their  progress  what  their  riders  left  unwvuBded  and 
unslain.  Right  and  lef\,  the  scimeter  of  Abdallah,  and  the  battle-axe  of  the 
Barop,  hewed  a  passage  for  their  comrades,  while  the  page,  who  was  so 
placed  as  to  be  incapable  of  making  any  use  of  his  weapons,  was  protected 
in  front  by  the  shields  of  the  knights,  and  in  the  rear  by  the  closely  following 
boily  of  the  diflferent  Orders.  But  just  as  the  gallant  band  had  forced  their 
way  to  the  hist  lines  of  the  Moslem  rear,  and  all  seemed  to  evince  certainty  of 


Li 

/'J 


'' 


\ 


66 


THE   MONK    KNIOHT   OF   ST.    JOHN. 


3       • 


1^ 


success,  two  strong  divisions  of  honcmen  came  sweeping  from  eaeh  flank,  and 
pressed  upon  the  centre.  Abdallah's  quick  ear  caught  the  thunder  of  their 
tread,  as  they  scoured  like  a  tempest  through  the  lane  that  had  been  formed 
for  them  a  little  in  his  front ;  but  shouting  out  that  the  enemy  were  attempt- 
ing to  cut  them  off  in  their  advance,  he  and  de  Boiscourt,  whom  he  had 
warned  of  the  danger,  again  dug  the  rowels  into  the  withers  of  their  steeds, 
who,  furious  with  pain,  seemed  rather  to  fly  than  to  run  their  maddened 
course. 

A  cry  from  Rudolph  arrested  the  Monk-Knight.  He  cheeked  his  steed 
with  such  an  iron  hand,  it  threw  him  upon  his  haunches.  Close  at  his  left 
side  lay  the  page,  wounded  in  the  shoulder,  his  Blondin's  skull  laid  open 
with  a  scimeter.  Quick  as  thought,  Abdallah  threw  his  shield  over  the  de- 
fenceless boy,  and,  seizing  him  by  the  belt  that  confined  his  light  armor, 
raised  him  to  the  front  of  his  saddle,  where  he  bade  hun  cling  tightly  ;  then, 
once  more  extending  his  shield  so  as  to  cover  them  both,  he  again,  and  with 
greater  fury  than  ever,  plunged  his  spurs  into  his  foaming  steed,  whose 
dilated  nostrils  seemed  to  emit  sparks  of  fire,  and  so  well  did  he  wield  his 
weapon,  and  so  completely  did  he  awe  those  who  immediately  disputed  his 
passage,  that  the  last  bound  of  his  steed  carried  him  unharmed  over  the  final 
barrier,  and  into  the  open  plain.  Many  a  sword,  many  an  arrow  rang  on 
his  coat  ot  mail  as  he  fled,  for  flee  he  did,  in  imitation  of  de  Boiscourt  just 
before  him,  when,  as  turning  to  see  how  far  they  were  supported,  they  be- 
held the  fearful  massacre  of  their  comrades  by  the  clouds  of  horsemen  that 
had  hastened  to  intercept  them. 

Not  one  hundred  yards  in  their  front  was  the  glassy  Lake  of  Tiberias,  on 
which  the  sun's  rays  fell  dazzlingly.  likening  its  surface  to  a  wide-spread 
sheet  of  molten  gold.  Towards  this  the  generous  steeds  of  the  warrior 
knights  now  sped  their  way,  with  a  rapidity  of  motion  unexampled.  The 
excitement  produced  by  the  strange  beverage  which  had,  so  happily  however, 
been  administered  to  them,  still  continued  to  buoy  them  up,  and  to  infuse 
into  them  a  spirit  which  soon  left  far  behind  the  band  who  were  detached 
in  pursuit ;  but  such  was  the  raging  thirst  that  dried  up  their  palates,  that 
the  proximity  of  the  water  acted  like  electricity  or.  their  blood,  and,  with 
loud  neiphings  and  pricked  ears,  they  bore  their  riders  gallantly  on.  The 
lake  was  reached  through  straggling  Moslems,  who  vainly  sought  to  arrest 
their  course.  The  steeds  plunged  furiously  in  to  their  very  girths,  and 
drank  deeply  ;  nor  were  the  riders  themselves  less  pleased  at  their  attain- 
ment of  that  of  which  they  had  been  so  long  and  so  cruelly  deprived.  Re- 
gardless of  ^he  mass  of  enemies  who  were  rushing  down  upon  them,  De 
Boiscourt  unfastened  his  helmet,  half  filled  it  from  the  lake,  and  gave  it  to 
the  Monk-Knight,  who,  still  encumbered  with  the  body  of  the  wounded 
Rudolph,  had  only  his  sword-arm  at  liberty.  The  latter  tasted  of  the  water, 
and  was  greatly  revived.  When  the  Monk  himself  nad  drank,  he  returned 
his  helmet  to  the  Baron,  who  was  even  then  in  the  act  of  applying  it  to  his 
lips,  when  a  loud  shout,  accompanied  by  the  trampling  of  many  horses'  feet, 
fell  upon  his  ear,  and,  at  the  moment,  a  swiU  arrow  struck  the  loosely-held 
helmet  from  his  hands  into  the  lake.  Rapidly  impelled  by  its  own  weight, 
it  sunk  to  the  bottom,  leaving  De  Boiscoan  solely  to  the  protection  of  his 


and 


i  \ 
I 


r«K  M< 


(  K     -T. 


er- 


thield.  TliPie  wus  little  hop';  of  fwapo.  lor  ji  coai|iIete  host  of  Moslems 
were  now  close  upon  their  flanks,  diverging  forward  to  tf  ■■  shore  of  the  lake. 
As  soon  as  they  effected  this  they  halted,  and  iialf  a  >  ■■^■!l  stalwart  horse- 
men— all  men  of  note — moved  forward,  to  luake  pri^-     •  rs  of  the  knights. 

"  Hold  bravely  on,  Rudolph  !"'  shouted  Abdalh;..  raising  his  shoulders, 
and  rushing  upon  his  nearest  op|)onent. 

His  terrible  seimeter  fell  upon  the  neck  of  the  man.  am.  .  !eft  him  to  the 
groin,  then  through  the  saddle,  and  backbone  of  his  steed,  which,  with  his 
rider,  sank  exhaiisled  and  dying  under  the  blow. 

"  (rod,  and  the  J/a<ly  Krncstina '"  cried  the  Baron,  nishitip  on  the  next  Sa- 
racen, utterly  reckless  of  life,  bm  resolved  not  to  perish  unrevenged.  With 
his  beautiful  hair  floating  in  the  wind,  and  his  cheek  f  iisbed  with  excite- 
ment, and  looking  more  like  Apollo  than  Mars,  he  rushed  upon  the 
rapidly-advancing  horseman.  The  latter,  seeing  the  knight  unhelmeted, 
paused  for  a  moment  in  surprise,  but  soon  recovering  bis  self-possession,  he 
aimed  an  upward  blow  at  the  arm  which  supported  his  shield.  The  Saricen 
was  about  to  follow  up  his  advantage,  when  the  active  Baron,  having  renewed- 
his  guard,  furiously  rose  in  his  stirrups,  and  cleft  him  through  his  head- 
armor  I'roni  the  crown  to  the  shoulders.  One  half  of  the  ghastly,  yet  bloody 
and  horrible  head,  fi'll  to  the  earth,  and  rolled  over  and  over,  Ue  Boiscourt 
with  closed  teeth  consigning  it  to  all  the  powers  of  hell. 

"  (iallantly  donn,  Di-  Boiscourt,'"  exclaimed  the  Monk-Knight,  advancing 
to  the  rencontre  with  a  third  Saracen  knight,  scarcely  inferior  in  Herculean 
proportions  to  himself.  "God  and  the  Lady  Krnestina.  Let  the  accursed 
Saracen  t'eel  the  true  edge  of  our  steel. "' 

With  one  rapid  side  movement,  he  evaded  a  heavy  blow  aimed  by  his  ad- 
versary, then,  (juick  as  thought,  and  before  the  other,  borne  down  by  the 
liurce  of  his  own  unopposed  blow,  could  recover  the  use  of  his  sword  arm, 
dealt  such  a  lightning  and  horizontal  sweep  of  his  sharp  seimeter,  that  he 
clove  the  man  literally  in  twain.  The  upper  part  of  the  mailed  body  tum- 
bled heavily  to  the  ground ;  the  lower  was  so  firmly  seated  in  the  saddle, 
that,  as  the  terrified  horse  turned  round  and  galloped  from  the  destroyer  ot 
his  master,  he  exhibited  to  the  astonished  Moslems  the  appalling  sight  of  a 
human  boily,  from  the  navel  downwards,  dripping  with  gore,  and  centaur- 
like, glued  ••0  its  flying  steed. 

.K  moment  afterwards,  recovering  from  their  consternation,  in  which,  how- 
ever, was  mingled  deep  respect  and  admiration  for  the  prowess  of  the  knight 
who  had  accomplished  so  extraordinary  a  feat,  the  whole  mass  of  cavalry 
moved  forward  to  surround  and  take  him  prisoner.  It  happened  that,  at  the 
very  moment  when  he  swept  his  seimeter  in  the  manner  last  described, 
Kudolph  had  slipped  from  the  shoulder  of  bis  steed  to  the  ground.  Upon 
seeing  this,  l)e  Boiscourt  came  up  to  the  succor  of  the  boy,  but  even  while 
111  the  act  of  leaping  from  his  saddle  to  pick  him  up,  another  arrow  entered 
his  chest,  through  a  slight  rent  in  the  chain  annor  which,  it  hiisbeen  already 
said,  he  wore,  and  laid  him  motionless  by  the  side  of  the  page. 

The  horror,  the  distress  of  the  latter,  may  welt  be  imagined.  Ihtermgloud 
lamentations,  he  threw  himself  wounded,  as  he  was,  upon  the  body,  and  wept 
and  shrieked  as  though  he  stood   In  the  preHence  of  fumiliar  and  pitying 


[''  I 


I' 

s 


M 


68 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    Ol     ST.    JOHN. 


n 


Y, 


f::l" 


friends  like  himself,  and  not  in  that  of  a  ruthless  enemy.  B'ven  these,  how- 
ever, were  deeply  touched  by  the  scene,  and  again  there  was  a  pause  in  the 
fierce  enrounter. 

"Revenge!"  shouted  the  Monk-Knitrlit,  in  a  voice  almost  supernatural 
fntm  concentrated  rage.     '•  Ernestina  and  De  Boiscourt,  revenge  I" 

Madly  lie  dashed  through  those  willi  wliom  he  was  already  maintaining 
the  unecpial  conflict,  then,  giving  the  uncurbed  rein  to  his  steed,  he  absolutely 
rode  down  his  opponent,  and  then,  suddenly  throwing  the  animal  on  his 
hatmches,  trampled  him  to  death  with  his  heels  until  he  became  an  undis- 
linguishable  mass. 

Aroused  by  the  shrieks  of  Rudolph,  for  he  had  had  his  back  turned  to  De 
Roiscourt  at  the  moment  of  his  fall,  a  glance  had  been  surticient  to  assure 
Ahdallah  of  the  inanner  of  his  fate,  A  .second  glance  at  once  detected  the 
slayer  of  his  friend.  The  man,  who.se  feathered  arrow  might  be  seen  stick- 
ing in  the  quivering  body  of  the  ynung  French  Knight,  still  held  his  bow  in 
the  position  of  one  who  has  Just  discharged  his  winged  messenger  of  death. 
Jt  was  this  Saracen  he  had  now  sacrificed  tO  the  manea  of  his  friend.  In- 
furiated at  the  siffht,  at  least  fifty  Turkish  hor.semen  now  closed  around,  and  , 
finally  succeeded  in  making  him  prisoner,  not,  however,  without  an  additional 
lo.ss  of,  at  least,  half-a-dozen  of  their  number. 

"  rnliand  me  !"  commanded  the  Monk-Knight  haughtily,  and  in  Mooriah. 
"  Now  that  1  have  slain  theaccursed  puller  of  that  bow,  1  offer  no  more  resist- 
ance ;  let  me  instantly  be  taken  before  Saladin,  that  I  may  demand  of  hina 
honorable  burial  for  the  preserver  of  the  life  of  his  wife.  Let  yon  wounded 
boy,  be  carried,  too.  before  her.  She  will  recognize  and  obtain  for  him  the 
protection  of  your  chief." 

"  What  proof  of  this,  (Christian?"  demanded  he  who  seemed  to  be  the 
leader  of  the  party. 

"Ha!  1  have  it;"  returned  the  Monk-Knight.  "  Let  me  but  join  my 
tiriend,  and  I  will  show  you  a  jewelled  ring  on  the  little  finger  of  his  left 
hand,  placed  there,  in  gratitude  for  tlie  deep  service  rendered  to  her " 

"  Stay  where  you  now  are,  .Sir  monk,"  remarked  he  who  had  spoken 
last — a  proud  and  distinguished  chieftain,  to  whom  all  seemed  to  do  reve- 
rence. "  We  will  duly  examine  into  the  proof,  and  if  what  you  say  be  true, 
not  only  shall  the  rites  of  sepulture  be  afforded  to  the  warrior-knight,  but 
this  poor  youth  shall  gain  the  presence  of  her  of  Saladin's  wives  who 
first  admits  the  claim.  Tarry  not  to  bear  the  corpse  along,  but  well  secure 
that  prisoner,  and  conduct  him  to  the  tent  of  Saladin  when  the  fight  is  over  : 
the  boy  \wll  follow  with  yourself." 

Obedient  to  bis  command,  Ahdallah  and  the  inconsolable  Rudolph  were 
hnraed  oo  to  the  front  where  shone  the  hated  Crescent,  and  loud  burst  the 
clang  of  victory.  The  gallant  the  ill  fated  de  Boiscourt  was  left  even  on  the 
spot  whereon  he  fell. 


.0>' 


THE   MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


69 


CHAPTKR    XIV 


In  a  larpe  and  richly-adorned  tent,  on  the  evening  after  the  battle  of  Tiue- 
rias,  sat  on  a  temporary  throne,  the  great  and  noble,  yet  occasionally  cruel, 
Saladin  :  great  and  noble,  ever  ;  cruel,  as  caprice  or  circumstances  disposed 
him.  Historians  have  ascribed  to  him  artifice,  cunning,  and  extreme  bigotry 
in  religion  ;  but,  in  disproof  of  this  assertion,  may  be  adduced  the  strong 
contrast  of  his  conduct  at  the  subseciuent  capture  of  Jerusalem,  with  that  ol 
the  Christians,  detailed  in  a  previous  chapter.  On  that  occasion,  there  was 
no  pity,  no  mercy  extended  by  the  victorious  ('rusaders.  The  streets  and 
temples  of  the  Holy  City  ran  with  blood,  and  carnage  became  not  a  necessity, 
but  a  passion.  But  how  acted  Saladin,  when  shortly  subsequently  to  tiie  great 
victory  gained  by  him,  he  carried  the  disputed  city  by  storm  ?  According  in 
a  popular  author  already  noticed,  who  quotes  from  Bernard,  "  the  conduct 
of  the  infidel  sultan  shamed  the  cruelty  of  the  Crusaders.  When  the  •  ople 
could  hold  out  no  longer,  Saladin,  who  had  at  first  offered  the  most  advan- 
tageous terms,  insisted  that  the  city  should  now  throw  itself  on  his  mercy." 

"  He  then  agreed  upon  a  moderate  ransom  for  the  prisoner.^,  and  promi.sed 
to  let  each  man  carry  away  his  goods  without  impediment.  When  tiiis  was 
done,  with  extraordinary  care,  he  saw  that  neither  insult  nor  injury  should 
be  offered  to  the  Christians,  and  having  taken  possession  of  the  town,  he  placed 
a  guard  at  one  of  the  gates  to  secure  the  ransom  of  the  inhabitants  as  they 
passed  out.  Nevertheless,  when  the  whole  of  the  wealth  which  could  be  col- 
lected in  the  town  had  been  paid  down,  an  immense  number  of  the  poorer  Chris- 
tians remained  unredeemed.  These  were  destined  to  be  slaves,  but  Saif  Eddyn, 
the  brother  of  the  monarch,  had  begged  the  liberty  of  one  thousand  of  these, 
and  the  same  number  were  delivered  up  at  the  prayer  of  the  Patriarch,  and 
of  Balian  de  Ibylin,  who  had  commanded  in  the  place,  and  communicated 
with  the  Turkish  monarch  on  its  surrender.  After  this,  Saladin  declared 
that  his  brother  and  Ibylyn  had  done  their  alms,  and  that  now  he  would  do 
his  alms  also,  on  which  he  caused  it  to  be  proclaimed  through  the  city  tiiat 
all  the  poor  people  might  go  forth  in  safety  by  the  gate  of  Saint  Lazarus ; 
but  he  ordered  that,  if  any  attempted  to  take  advantage  of  the  permission  who 
could  really  ptiv  for  their  deliverance,  they  should  be  instantly  seized  and 
cast  in  prison.  Many  of  the  nobler  prisoners,  also,  he  freed  at  the  entreaty 
of  the  Christian  ladies,  and  in  his  whole  conduct  he  proved  himself  as  mod- 
erate in  conquest  as  he  was  great  in  battle." 

Such  was  the  man  who  now,  amid  his  chief  officers,  sat  to  pronounce  judg- 
ment upon  the  Knights  of  the  Temple  and  of  St.  John,  who,  with  the  Grand 
Masters  of  the  Orders,  had  fallen  into  his  hands.  Against  these  proud  war- 
riors, Saladin  had  conceived  a  most  bitter  and  relentless  hatred,  not  only  by 
reason  of  numerous  acts  of  cruelty  and  aggressioi  which  had  been  charged 
against  them,  but  for  the  deep  measure  of  their  fierce  slaughter  of  his  people 
in  the  field.  This  was  in  strange  contradiction  with  his  noble  conduct  on  the 
(all  of  Jerusalem,  and  with  his  generous  admiration  of  the  heroic  Cceur-de- 


r 


i 


.11 


ro 


TH.'.    MONK    UNI.iHl    ().•    >!'.    JOHN. 


■,  *  r 

V. 

A 


Lion,  whrii,  Hii'i-iii|;  thiil  iiiAn.ireh  tlimuounteil,  and  fij^rlitiiig  like  <i  docoml 
Arlulled,  at  Jalfii.  h'-  (i".-.|iilciied  lo  tiiiii  two  horses  witlj  thu  remark  thai 
"  such  a  man  ouijiit  not  to  remain  on  I'ooi  ia  so  great  danger." 

The  kni;,'hts  stood  uiieovered,  h'.lnu't  in  hand,  yet  m  their  armor,  and 
diveated  only  of  their  weapons.  I'ndiuinled  hy  their  piwition,  although  well 
knowing  the  tale  that  awaited  them,  tiicy  looked  proudly  up  in  defiant  mood, 
and  il'  the  cheek.=(  of  some  were  pale,  and  wore  a  cast  of  thouKht,  it  wiis  not 
from  dastard  fiarshut  shame  that  they,  .h  indomitable  warriors  of  many  a 
battle  field,  should  be  (impelled  at  lencth  to  Jiand  iiiieovered  in  the  presence 
of  the  infidel  they  despi.^ed  and  hated. 

"  Are  all  the  captive  Knights  of  St.  Joitn  and  of  the  Temple  here  assem- 
bled ?"  inquired  the  monarch  of  the  otTicer  w  iio  had  their  safe  keeping  in  hi3 
charge. 

"They  are,  your  Highness,"  returned  the  official,  Iwwing  low  and  defe- 
rentially. 

"  MethlnKs,"  cried  >Saladin,  dairting  his  quick  .stern  i^lance  upon  the  group, 
<'  1  behold  not  the  warrior-monk,  taken  near  the  Tiake  of  Tiberias,  at  the 
close  of  the  battle." 

"  He  has  declared  his  willingness  to  accept  your  Highness's  coiidilioiui," 
returned  the  man,  bending  as  b«'fore,  "  and,  therefore,  deemed  1  not  him  in 
eluded  in  the  command  of  your  Highness  to  produce  the  prisoners." 

"  What !"  exclaimed  the  (Jrand  Miister  of  the  Templars,  in  utter  astonish- 
ment— a  .sentiment  that  was  resj>onded  to,  in  various  ways,  by  his  com- 
panions— "  Abdallah  I — the  monk  Abdallah  ! — the  flower  of  our  chivalry,  an 
apostate  !  Abdallah,  for  the  base  love  of  life,  renounce  his  vows,  lo  espouse 
the  damned — the  accursed  faith  of  Mahomet  I     Impossible  !" 

"  Hold,  sacrilegiou.s  wretch  !"  exclaimed  the  infuriated  Saladin,  rising 
(juickly  from  his  throne,  and  advancing  a  few  paces  ;  "your  most  foul  and 
insolent  tongue  has  sealed  your  doom,"  and,  with  one  rapid  blow  of  his 
acimeter,  he  struck  the  head  of  the  Grand  Master  from  his  shoulders  to  the 
ground.  At  that  sndden  and  appalling  sight  there  was  much  stir  among  the 
prisoners,  and  many  looked  threateningly,  and  dropped  their  hands  to  their 
thighs,  forgetful  that  there  was  no  weapon  there  to  meet  them. 

"  Hravc  yet  doomed  knights,"  remarked  Saladin,  immediately  after  this 
act,  and  with  much  dignity,  "  your  power  to  do  harm  is,  at  length,  ended. 
Those  swords,  so  long  bathed  in  the  best  blood  of  Palestine,  are  even  now- 
hung  up  as  irophie-i  of  your  fall.  Vou  know  the  fate  that  awaits  you  , 
the  option  that  is  ortered.  Go  hence,  and  ponder  well  the  subject.  To- 
morrow's dawn  must  sec  you  converts  to  the  Moslem  faith  your  haughty 
chief  has  dared  to  slander,  or  like  that" — and  he  pointed  significantly  lo  the 
body  of  the  (Jrand  Master. 

"Our  answer  here  is  prompt,"  replied  the  Grand  Master  of  St.  John, 
advancing  a  step  or  two  ;  "  for  myself  and  these  I  speak  defiance  to  your 
threat,  proud  Saracen.  No  knight  is  here  so  recreant  in  his  fall,  as  cast  a 
shame  upon  the  escutcheon  of  his  Order."' 

"  Nay ,  by  the  Prophet,  but  you  scarcely  speak  leaa  scornful  than  yon  acrurui'd 
thing,  whose  vile  carcase  at  your  feel  .should  duly  warn  you.  But  ]  hood 
not  your  rejoinJer  ;  let  eacii  separate  knight  himself  decide.     Should  any 


n 


THK    MONK    KNIOHT    OK    ST.    JOHN. 


71 


among  your  cruel  and  remorseless  ranks  show  cause  for  mercy  in  act  of  grace 
performed  toward  a  Saracen,  that  act  being  proved,  shall  give  you  lite  and 
liberty.  For  those  who  cannot  show  such  plea  must  be  reserved  by  the 
Bcimeter  or  the  true  faith.  Begone,  and  by  to-morrow's  dawn,  let  all  have 
choeen" 

The  knights  turned  haughtily  round,  and  with  steady  step  moved  from  the 
tent.  It  was  evident  from  the  manner  of  each  that  their  course  had  already 
been  decided  on  ;  and  Saladin,  who  watched  them  keenly,  had  no  doubt 
of  what  would  be  their  final  answer.  But  he  had  an  object  in  what  he  was 
doiug.  Once  his  sentence  should  be  passed,  it  was  indispensable  that  exe- 
cution should  follow  immediately,  and  he  was  desirous  of  obtaining  certain 
information,  which  concerned  the  fate  of  some  of  his  prisoners,  before  he 
pronounced  his  final  determination. 

If  the  heart  of  Saladin  was  ardent  in  wa. ,  it  was  scarcely  less  powerfully 
influenced  by  women.  His  seraglio  always  accompanied  him  in  the  field, 
and,  at  night,  in  the  arms  of  his  chosen  and  voluptuous  wives,  he  sought 
solace  for  the  many  toils  and  duties  of  the  day.  Zuleima — the  fascinating, 
the  matchlefw  Zuleima — was  his  favorite,  the  most  cherished  of  his  heart — the 
sharer  of  his  most  secret  thoughts,  feelings,  and  sympathies.  Tired  with 
the  copious  draughts  of  sherbet  he  had  swallowed,  after  the  more  than 
ordinary  fatigues  of  the  day,  and  with  his  blood  heated  and  excited,  and 
pulses  throbbing  with  love,  he  repaired,  soon  after  his  intervi.v  with  the 
Christian  knights,  to  her  silken  and  luxuriously-furnished  tent,  where  she 
lay,  half  undressed,  reclining  on  a  rich  ottoman,  and  expecting  his  return  to 
render  tidings  of  his  victory. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  lord,"  she  affectionately  exclaimed,  and  half  rising  to 
welcome  him  as  he  entered  ;  "  the  Holy  Allah  be  praised,  you  are  again 
nnharmed." 

'*  It  must  be,  sweet  Zulfpima,  that  your  prayars  ward  ofll"  the  death-blow," 
said  Saladin,  smiling,  as  he  dropped  at  her  side  ;  "  but,  in  truth,  life  of  my 
soul,  I  am,  as  you  say,  unharmed.  Yet  come,  dearest,  let  us  not  think  of 
the  dangers  I  have  passed,  but  of  the  happiness  I  crave  of  my  Zuleima." 

Her  exceeding  beauty,  never  more  beautiful  than  at  this  moment,  mad- 
dened him  with  a  poignant  anticipation  of  the  bliss  he  was  about  to  taste  in 
the  arms  of  his  beloved  wife.  Her  head  reclined  upon  his  shoulder.  She 
breathed  deeply.  Her  long  black  hair,  which  he  had  loosened  from  the  dia- 
mond that  confined  it,  fell  upon  his  face  and  neck.  Fondly,  rapturously  he 
pressed  his  lips  to  hers.  He  called  her  his  beloved — his  adored — the  peer- 
less idol  of  his  existence,  and  exhausted  her  with  endearments,  such  as  well 
might  come  from  one  of  his  ardent  and  generous  character. 

Recovering  from  the  delicious  interchange  of  their  mutual  passion,  Saladin 
lay  at  the  side  of  Zuleima,  with  one  arm  thrown  around  her  neck,  ami  his 
hand  extended  on  high.  Carelessly  following  the  action  of  his  playing  fingers, 
the  glance  of  his  wife  soon  rested  upon  a  brilliant  which  adorned  one  of 
these,  and  which,  it  seemed  to  her,  he  was  then  thoughtfully  regarding. 
Suddenly  she  became  pale  aa  death,  and  had  Saladin,  at  that  moment,  turned 
bis  eyes  upon  her  face,  he  would  have  discovered  evidences  of  strong  and 
unusual  emotion.   Her  heart,  too,  beat  violently,  and  various  feelings  rap'dly 


«    '    j 


n 


■\ 


n 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OK    hT.    JOHN. 


succeeded  each  other  through  hrr  agitated  luiiid.  She  was  afraid  to  a«k  how 
the  monarch  had  become  posaeKscd  oithe  riug,  and  yet,  so  great  was  her  im- 
patience  to  know,  that  she  could  not  ret'iaiii  from  alluding  to  events  which 
she  hoped  might  be  the  means  uf  throwing  some  light  upon  the  matter. 

"  Your  Highness'  victory  has  has  been  great  tins  day,"  site  at  length  re- 
marked. "  Not  only  Guy  of  Lusignan,  King  uf. lerusalem,  and  your  greatest 
foe,  Kenaud  of  Chatillon,  but  the  Grand  Masterit  uf  the  Temple  and  uf  St. 
John,  with  three  hundred  knights,  are,  niethinks,  your  prisoners." 

"  Even  so  has  Allah  befriended  our  arms,"  returned  Saladin.  "  The 
cursed  Order  of  the  Temple  are  nearly  all  within  my  power,  and  after  to- 
morrow's dawn,  shall  perish  by  the  sword,  if  they  but  hesitate  to  renounce 
their  creed  and  embrace  our  own." 

"  And  the  Knights  of  St.  John  1"  tremblingly  half  queatiuned  the  an.\iou8 
Zuleima. 

"  They  too  are  our  prisoners,  and  .shall  perish  also,"  returned  the  Mo- 
narch ;  "  but  this  reminds  ine  of  the  missiuti  on  which  I  am  partly  come. 
See  you  this  ring,  my  Zuleima  1" 

"  I  do,"  faltered  the  Saracen,  her  heart  filled  with  a  dreadful  presentiment 
of  some  coming  evil  to  herself. 

"  I  took  it  from  the  hand  of  a  knight — an  unhelmetud  French  knight,  with 
clustering  locks,  beautiful  as  Adonis — who  lay  dead  on  the  battle-field." 

"  Dead  !  said  your  Highness,"  relumed  the  almost  fainting  Zuleima,  with 
difficulty  suppressing  her  tears. 

"  Dead  or  dying,"  was  the  answer — "  at  his  side  lay  his  page,  a  sweet 
young  infidel,  also,  and  u!ooming  in  beauty,  even  thuugh  wounded.  There 
we  were  about  to  leave  them  to  their  fate,  when  a  tall,  powerful,  and  daring 
Knight  of  St.  John,  who  had  slain  two  of  my  best  officers  in  a  manner  that 
proved  the  power  of  his  arm  to  be  almost  superhuman,  addressed  me  as  one 
of  no  note,  though  in  command  of  the  party,  and  demanded  that  I  should  lead 
him  instantly  before  the  monarch,  while  the  page  snould  be  borne  to  the  tent 
of  his  consort,  who  would  not  only  recognize  him,  but  obtain  honorable  burial 
for  his  master." 

"  They  say  truly,"  exclaimed  the  excited  Zuleima,  Homewhat  consoled  by 
the  manner  in  which  Saladin  had  obtained  the  ring.  Phey  are  the  noble 
Christians  to  which  I  owe  my  honor  and  my  life.  That  ring  which  you  now 
wear,  I  gave  in  gratitude  to  that  ill-fated  Knight  of  PVance,  that  it  might 
serve  as  a  protection  to  him,  should  he  ever  fall  into  the  hands  of  our 
people." 

Sbe  then,  in  a  few  brief  sentences,  explained  all  that  had  occurred  since 
the  moment  of  her  being  carried  off  by  Thibaud,  up  to  that  of  her  restoration 
by  the  Christian  knights  to  the  officer  sent  in  search  of  the  marauders  ;  omit- 
ting, however,  such  portions  of  her  story  as  she  deemed  might  not  be  quite 
pleasing  to  the  ear  of  her  lord  and  master. 

"  Dearest  Zuleima,  forgive  my  seeming  apathy.  True,  I  knew  that  one 
of  my  harem  had  been  carried  ofT  and  subsequently  recovered,  but  it  never 
occurred  to  me  that  it  could  have  been  you,  and  then  you  know  I  did  not  love 
you  as  1  do  now,  and  so  little  interest  did  I  take  in  the  rest  of  my  wives^ 
that  I  had  never  cai«d  to  inquire.    I  never  knew,  till  this  moment,  how  much 


fe 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


73 


I  stand  indebted  to  these  Christian  knights.     Why  had  you  not  told  me  of 
this  before?" 

For  a  moment  Zuleima  hesitated,  and  then,  buryinp  her  face  in  the 
monarch's  bosom,  she  murmured — "  I  wished  your  Highness  first  to  ques- 
tion me  on  a  matter  which  involves  some  strange  revealments — nay,  start  not 
from  me,  dearest  Saladin.  Unhurt,  untouched  by  these  vile  men,  the  faithful 
knights — the  Monk-Knight  of  St.  John,  and  his  noble  friend  of  high  degree 
in  J'rance — restored  me,  with  my  less  fortune-favored  handmaidens,  to  the 
troop  of  horsemen  sent  in  search  of  us.  There  first  1  saw  the  gentle  youth— 
the  wounded  page — whom  now,  1  pray  your  Highnt.y,  send  to  me,  that  I 
may  show  my  gratitude  for  all  the  care  he  lavished  on  your  Zuleima.  Him 
seen,  I  can  no  longer  doubt  the  identity  of  the  Christian  knight  to  whom 
this  ring  was  vainly  given." 

"  At  least,  from  his  hand,  let  it  return  to  yours,  my  Zuleima.  It  will 
yield  some  solace  to  your  gentle  heart,  to  know  that  that  which  circled  round 
the  flesh  of  both,  brings  life-long  memory  of  the  past — of  the  great,  strong 
service  which  that  brave  and  gallant  knight  did  render  you." 

As  he  spoke,  Saladin  took  the  brilliant  from  his  finger  and  placed  it  ou 
that  of  his  wife.  It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  feelings  that  passed 
through  her  mind  as  she  felt,  once  more  pressing  her  own  finger,  the  ring 
which,  placed  there  by  her  own  hand,  had  so  recently  been  taken  from  that  of 
him  who  had  clasped  her  to  a  heart  burning  with  a  thousand  fires,  and  filled 
her  with  an  emotion,  the  sweetest  she  had  ever  known. 

"Noble,  generous  lord!" — she  exclaimed  with  deep  fervor — "  my  own 
monarch  and  master  !  well  do  you  strive  to  infuse  into  your  own  Zuleima's 
heart,  lasting  joy  in  your  princely  nature.  The  unworthy  jealousy  of  ano- 
ther had  fain  withheld  this  bauble  from  my  sight  and  touch,  but  you,  with 
your  great  mind,  accord  to  softened  sympathy  what  sympathy  alone  can  ac- 
cept or  claim." 

"  Not  this  alone,  my  Zuleima,"  returned  Saladin,  as  he  fondly  pressed  her 
to  his  heart ;  "  could  I  restore  the  dead,  1  would  bear  this  gallant  Knight  of 
France  to  hear  your  lipe  pronounce  your  thanks  ;  but  since  this  cannot  be, 
his  page  shall  forthwith  answer  to  your  call,  and  him  received,  the  valiant 
Monk-Knight,  chief  agent  in  your  escape  from  purposes  most  vile,  shall 
claim  the  measure  of  your  feeling  for  his  friend." 

"What!  that- cold,  stem  monk!"  said  Zuleima,  in  a  trembling  voice,  which 
moreover  denoted  astonishment;  "but  where  shall  I  receive  Aim.'  With 
the  page  there  can  be  no  difficulty,  but " 

"  You  are  right,  my  Zuleima,"  returned  Saladin,  smiling,  and  kissing  her 
brow,  as  he  rose  to  depart.  "  It  were  better  far  that  the  untaught  page 
should  pour  hie  silvery  tones  into  your  ear,  and  tell  you  of  his  hope  of  pro- 
tection in  your  loving  favor.  You  want  a  young  and  comely  page — mayhap 
this  youth,  having  lost  his  master,  may  change  his  faith,  and  enter  in  your 
service  — — " 

And  thus  saying,  he  left  the  tent,  not,  however,  without  imprinting  a  final 
kiss  CD  the  crimson  cheek  of  her  he  so  fondly  regarded. 


m 


74 


TUB    MOMi    k•^tr'.HT    Of    ST     JOHN. 


St 


en  A  r  I'KR  X  V. 

i<KKT  to  lirrttt*!)',  Uu>  boMUi)  of  '/uleiiiiii  wa»  u  prey  to  (In*  mosl  ronlradictory 
fet'linufo.  urid  fimt  amoni;  tliftM>,  wat«  eri<  I  for  ihc  dciith  ut'  the  noblti  C'hribtiiui 
kiiij,'ht,  wiiuni  tihc  had  known  undt-rsuch  striiii){t*  and  oxoitin^  circiinintariotM 
The  elef{ance  of  his  manner,  and  winning  li(fhtnt>Mt<  of  di8|HNiition,  had 
firxt  awakened  an  interest  in  hix  favor.  tlii>  murt'  8tron)r|y  marked  at  the  time, 
by  the  contraat  thus  exhibited  tn  the  r«piil8ive  roldne»^«  ot  Abdallah,  and  itn 
ha«  been  seen,  she  not  only  yielded  to  a  temptation  too  faacinating  to  be  re- 
rietrd  with  itiiceesn  by  one  of  her  ({eiierouH  nature,  but  wholly  jimtified  to  her- 
self by  the  occasion.  litmg  after  her  return  home,  had  she  lingered  ni|;htly 
in  ima((itialinn  over  that  tMwne  in  the  tent  of  the  (^hrmtian  kiii^ht,  wherr; 
first  her  willing:  heart  consented  to  reward  him  with  her  love.  The  ring 
she  hud  (riven  him  at  partini?,  she  thought  would  never  be  iniB.s«<d,  whil^ 
that  whieh  he  placed  on  her  own  hand,  she  kept  carefully  secreted  among 
her  jewels  of  price,  and  only  regarded  at  intervals,  whenever  her  truant 
thoiiijht  recurred  to  those  most  iU»r  to  her  within  the  (Christian  camp. 

In  the  first  momeuts  of  her  impulsive  transports,  when  filled  with  the  wild 
deiiriuui  of  a  newly  excited  passion,  she  had  prayed  for  it«  continuance 
in  a  request,  that  tht;  Knight  would  retain  her  either  as  his  pape  or  his 
slave.  iShe  had  done  this  not  with  a  view  ti>  be  guilty  of  open  wrong  to  her 
husband,  whose  love  for  her  then  had  not  attained  the  pitch  we  have  just 
shown,  but  wa»  ever  simihtr  to  that  which  he  now  admitted  iii  refjprd  to  tke 
women  of  his  harem  generally  ;but  she  knew  that  her  absence  would  be 
looked  upon  not  a.s  voluntary,  but  the  consequence  of  forcible  abduction, 
and  that  a  corresponding  !<entiment  would  be  created.  The  tender  and  volup- 
tuous  Zuleima  was  by  no  means  of  the  common  school  of  eastern  women 
She  iVlt  that  which  she  had  done  was  warranted  by  the  occasion.  No  one 
had  .Mistained  loss  by  it ,  but,  on  the  contrary,  two  ardent  souls  had  been  made 
supremely  happy.  Her  creed  in  love  resembled,  in  some  degree,  that  of  the 
Spartans  in  theft.  There  was  no  wrong  in  the  act,  it  was  only  in  the  detec- 
tion. A  wife,  in  little  more  than  name,  she  had  abhorred  that  unnatnral  law 
of  custom  which,  whether  with  Christian  or  infidel,  gives  to  nun  the  pos- 
se8>ion  of  many  ;  while  woman,  with  a  heart  filled  with  the  most  exquisite 
seiiF^ihilities  (lod  has  given  to  his  creatures,  is  doomed  to  worse  than  oeiibsey 
— constancy — or  the  sneers  of  the  tyrant-forgers  of  those  conventional  hiws 
whii'h  bind  her  as  his  slave.  She  wao  not  licentious;  and  yet  no  woman's 
bosom  ever  glowed  with  more  voluptuous  feelings.  Ix)ve  was  a  neoeeeity 
with  her,  seldom  gratified,  it  is  true,  but  ever  richly  painted  to  her  anient 
and  iiaaginative  soul :  hitherto  she  had  only  committed  infidelity  in  thought. 
Jler  first  adultery  tiad  been  with  de  Boiscourt.  He  had  stirred  her  soul  into 
exciii-inent,  ;uid  in:ide  her  first  experience  those  agonizing  sensations  of  pas- 
sion of  whicli  she  wiis  so  susceptible.  lioving  not  Saladin,  who  had  only 
subsequently  won  her  affections  by  his  auentions  and  generosity  of  chaiaoter, 
she  was  the  more  anxious  to  remain  with  de  Boiscourt,  who  had  first  taught 
her  the  value  of  herself ;  but  ike  refusal  of  the  embarrassed  Knight,  while  it 


i 


TH1-:    MOVK    KNKiHT    OK    ST.     lOHN. 


^^9 


derply  painod  ht>r,  had  ha(i  the  effect  dI'  Hubtlmiif(  iiuir.h  of  the  iiitetitiity  of  the 
pawioii  ht>  had  in.spir(<  I,  wluU;  :ill  the  itMidiriiiHs  of  locollertiuii  roinaiiied, 
Now,  ht>r  ft.>rliii((!<  hud  tukfii  iinothcr  Mini,  but  IbrthiH,  iilwi,  Hhe  was  indebted 
U>  fit'  floiscourt.  Had  she  not  exjieriiMiced  all  Mic  ardor  ot"  Iuh  love,  Hhe  never 
wo\dd  have  ac(^ulr^^^  thi;  knowhidRP  that  wiw  m-cossary  to  compreheiid  that 
ol'  Paladin,  who,  seeing  her  more  beaiiliCiil — more  aollentrd — more  eaplivatinK 
than  ever,  after  the  occurrenee  of  an  adventure  witii  wiiieh  he  liad  never 
identilicd  her,  threw  jwide  the  coldneHH  of  cu.sioinary  favor,  and  warmed 
hi»  soul  into  HO  much  love  for  Iter,  tliat.  on  Iiih  manly  boHom,  .she  breatlied 
forth  all  those  passionate  marks  of  endearment  which  had,  for  the  first  time, 
b«'tn  called  into  life,  by  the  more  refined  and  delii  itc  (  liri.stian  kiiighl. 

Snrh  had  been  the  feelings  of  the  .strong-minded,  yet  tender,  Zuleima,  up 
to  the  moment  when  Suladin  calle<i  her  attention  to  the  ring.  At  first,  a 
horrible  and  unworthy  fear  of  treachery  iii  the  young  Knight  a.ssailed  her, 
but  when  he  proceeded  to  detail  the  manner  in  whii;h  lie  had  become 
jK)f»esBcd  of  It,  her  heart  waa  lelieved  from  u  mountain  weight,  and  she  at 
once  i<aw  how  favorable  wau  the  opportunity  to  e.iplain  the  uecaition  on 
which  she  had  bestowed  it.  Then,  too,  came  tender  emotioiiH  of  regret  for 
the  fate  of  him  whom  she  had  once  so  known,  and  who  had  been  the  first  to 
awaken  in  her  the  ardent  passion  she  now  entertained  tor  her  noble  hiLsband. 

Had  the  latter  evinced  anything  approaching  to  jealuiusy  or  distru.st,  her 
sat leifaction  would  have  been  incomplete,  but  when,  so  far  from  this,  he,  with 
generous  confidence,  placed  the  ring  upon  her  linger,  with  the  very  view  of 
recalling  to  her  memory  the  image  of  him  who  had  worn  it,  and  doubtless  re- 
garded it  with  acme  lingering  emotion,  her  mind  became  filled  with  a  volup- 
tuous, dreamy  calm,  which  was  more  delicinu.s  to  her  than  the  tumult  of  pas- 
sion itself.  In  this  mood  she  had  been  left  by  Saladin,  and  continued  to  in- 
dulge in,  for  many  minutes,  until  the  arrival  of  an  eunuch,  conducting  the 
wounded  and  somewhat  pale-looking  Rudolph,  roused  her  from  her  reverie 

The  boy,  wondering  where  he  was,  and  for  what  purpose  he  had  been 
brought  to  a  tent  so  richly  ornamented,  threw  his  eyes  rapidly  around  the 
interior,  but  soon  they  rested  upon  an  object  which  engrossed  all  his  atten- 
tion. He  could  not  be  mistaken.  It  was  the  beautiful  Saracen,  for  whose 
lose  hp  had  shed  bitter  tears  on  the  morning  of  her  departure  from  the  (Chris- 
tian camp  ;  and  yet,  how  could  one  so  tender,  .so  lovely,  be  found  near  such 
a  scene  of  carnage  aa  had  for  the  last  two  days  been  enacted  here  ?  The 
blushing  a|)d  delighted  Zuleima  rose  from  her  couch,  extended  her  hand  to 
him,  and  called  him  by  his  name,  Kudolph. 

On  showing  in  the  boy,  the  eunuch  had  departed,  closing  the  curtains  of 
the  lent  after  him.  Rudolph  threv/  himself  on  his  knees,  at  the  side  of  the 
Ottoman,  and  mingled  tears  of  joy  with  the  burning  kisses  he  imprinted  on 
her  hand.  She  put  her  lips  to  his  brow,  and  tunied  pale  at  the  sight  of  the 
blood  which  was  encrusted  on  the  shoulder  of  his  light  armor;  then,  ringing 
a  small  bell,  that  lay  on  an  enamelled  table  at  the  head  of  the  ottoman,  a 
•l^eautiful  female  slave  appeared  to  do  her  bidding. 

"  Lead  this  youth,  Fatima,"  she  directed,  "  to  my  bath-room,  and  assi.st 
him  in  laying  bare  this  nasty  wound.  You  may  wi'il  stare.  He  is  rather 
feshioned  to  be  a  lady's  pet,  than  ;\  grim  warrior.     Be  careful  thai  you  do 


I 


111 

11 


I 


#3 


tN 


1-^ 


It     ■ 


't 


H 


T» 


THE    MONK    A."'    '  T    or    ST.    JOH? 


not  hurt  him,  am)  Id  all  thoar  p»<  i  ,.i «  unpuontn.  whirh  lh«  ugp  Nazareth 
has  prepared  to  prewrvf  iln*  life  of  the  dentin'  .i  lonqueror  of  this  vaunted 
('hrii«tmn  eity  of  .IcruKalem,  be  laid  out,  with  hundaxeM  of  the  noftent  texture. 
Fill  the  bath  with  nme-witter.  tinil  Huch  nweet  (xlorn  an  best  are  suited  to 
lull  the  senses  to  repose.  Moreover,  hear  thither  the  ri«'ho8t  gartiients  of  a 
Moori.th  pane.      I  will  follow  shortly  to  apply  lb'  dressinjfH  to  the  wcmiid." 

Hudolph  heard  all  tlieHe  orders,  and  well  undrtMixHl  them,  fur  he  had  inudo 
(Treat  progress  in  llie  Moorish  tun^rue,  under  AlMlallah,  who  had  taken  threat 
pains  to  instruet  him.  ()be«lient  to  the  orders  of  /uleima,  he  followed  the 
rharminc  slave  into  the  room  whieli  had  been  indicated. 

When  the  fair  Saracen  joined  them,  his  armor  had  been  removed,  and  hifl 
shoulder,  while  as  alabaster,  where  the  blood  was  not  visible,  completely 
bared.  At  a  sijjnificant  motion,  the  blushinp  nirl  withdrew,  secretly  won- 
derin^r  at  so  uniisnal  a  care  of  a  wounded  Christian,  even  thniiirh  a  boy. 

in  a  spirit  of  stlf-confidence,  and  stron)x  in  the  almost  maternal  interest  she 
took  in  the  boy,  Zuleimu  approached  him.  She  imprinted  a  kiss  upon  his 
brow,  and  findinj?,  to  her  great  siirpriw  and  joy,  that  he  had  become  (piite  a 
proficient  in  the  Moorish  language,  took  (deasure  in  reminding  him  of  the 
peri<id  when  she  was  a  temporary  inmate  of  the  noble  French  kni(;ht's  tent. 
But  tlie  conduct  of  ({udolph  surprised  her,  for  instaad  of  derivin^f  satisfaction 
from  this,  as  she  intended  should  he  the  case,  the  pape  could  not  restrain  the 
tears  that  slowly  trickled  down  his  cheek.  Zulcima  fVlt  deeply  pained  at 
this.  Of  the  cause  of  his  (jrief  she  could  not  be  ignorant ;  and  when,  after 
condoling  with  the  boy,  she  frankly  told  him  that  she  too  deplored  the  brave 
young  knight's  death  iis  deeply  as  he  did,  although  she  dared  not  yet  openly 
express  it,  he  threw  himself,  sobbing,  in  her  arms,  and  said  he  knew  it 
was  impossible  for  his  dear  mother  to  feel  such  ingratitude  as  he  had  unjustly 
fancied  in  her. 

"  Foolish  boy,"  said  Zuleima,  looking  tenderly  in  his  eyes,  while  her  own 
were  dimmed  in  lustre,  "  how  could  you  think  it  possible  for  me  ever  to  for- 
get that  noble  knight,  when  recalled  to  my  memory  by  the  young  friend  and 
page  who  knew  and  loved  him  so  welll  There  now,  then,  get  into  your 
bath.  When  you  have  finished  and  dressed  yourself,  ring  that  bell,  pointing 
to  a  small  one  near,  and  I  will  return  and  dress  your  wound  with  my  own 
hands."  So  saying,  she  hurried  from  the  apartment,  turning  round  and 
putting  her  finger  significantly  upon  her  lip,  as  she  passed  through  the  door. 

In  less  than  twenty  minutes  the  bell  was  rung,  when  Zuleima  again  re- 
paired to  the  bath-room.  At  first  she  hesitated  to  enter,  for  Rudolph, 
although  out  of  the  bath,  had  no  other  covering  on  him  than  the  loose 
drawers  and  8lip|)er8  which  had  been  provided  with  the  remainder  of  an 
Fiastem  page's  dress  ;  but  the  boy  implored  her  so  earnestly,  both  in  look  and 
language,  to  come  near  him,  that  she  found  it  impossible  to  refuse. 

*'  And  must  1  wear  that  dress,  my  beautiful,  dear  mother  ;  must  I  trans- 
form myself  from  a  Christian  page  into  a  Saracen^" 

"  You  must,  if  you  love  me,  as  yon  say  you  do,  Rudolph.  It  is  the  only 
condition  on  which  you  can  remain  near  my  peison.  Otherwise,  dear  child, 
a  place  ionong  the  (.'hristiaa  captives  is  allotted  to  you." 


THE    MONK    KNIOHT   OK    8T.    JOHN. 


n 


*'  I  UHiiiVaa  1  ill)  iiiit  much  taiicy  tlie  exchange,"  sutd  tlie  boy,  with  proud 
inortificatKiri  in  hin  Itiuk.     "  It  scenic  to  di'i^rude  nie." 

/iilcnna  looked  m  hiiii  u  tVv,  mointMitit  iiitKutly.  N^vur  had  he  appeared 
III  licr  M)  rttnkiii^ly  iiitert'HtniK.  Tlic  trutth  Ixith  hud  revived  all  hia  tUtii^ued 
My»tf"iii.  'I'he  rriixraiicc  of  the  ro»e-water  seemed  to  lixiide  ;'roin  every  pore. 
iii.><  Howiiit;  and  biskiitit'iil  ItM-kN  were  caret'ully  i-oiiihed.  A  more  lovely  and 
delicate  red  over^^pread  hit*  cheekH.  The  rich  ripe  Idood  had  mounted  into  iiia 
miust  and  parting  li|iH;  and  hm  larue  hliie  eyeii  now  sparkled  with  deeper 
vivacity,  ami  now  Htuiiif  with  their  voluptuous  ian^our  of  exproution.  A 
tipeciCH  iif  la!4<-iiiatioM  i-amu  over  /uleiiua.  Shu  watched  the  play  of  hi.s  half 
ticornful  featurex,  until  she  fancitui  tiiat  they  .teemed  to  reproach  her  tor  tiie 
chanue  that  had  come  over  them,  and  tlien  a  few  tearu  courted  ttlowly  from 
her  Htill  ifiuiun  eyes. 

"  Mother,  dear  mother,  forj^ive  me !  i  will  wear  a  Moorish  drew — d«> 
uiiytliini;  to  \h'  near  you.  But  ah  !  i  am  sure  that  is  not  ail.  With  the 
dre»»  I  am  expected  to  a«»ume  the  ereed." 

"  Kvon  80,  Uudolph,"  murmured  /uleima,  through  her  tears.  "The 
price  i.s  a  severe  one,  but  Saladin  Ikw  said  it ;  for  none  may  ap|)roach  his  wife 
but  those  of  tender  years  and  of  his  own  creed.  Rudolph,  I  love  you,  ja 
though  you  were  indeed  my  son,  yet  far  bt3  it  from  me  to  persuade  you  to  a 
course  you  may  hereafter  repfret.  True,  it  would  j^ive  joy  to  my  heart,  greater 
than  1  can  express,  to  have  you  ever  near  me,  but  do  no  violence  to  what  you 
consider  to  be  a  duty." 

"  And  if  i  do  consent,  will  you  always  love  me !"  eagerly  questioned  llie 
page 

"  Always,"  she  replied.     "  Kven  as  though  you  v^ere  my  child." 

'I'lie  fascinated  boy  vihispered  something  in  her  ear,  and  then  buried  hiii 
burning  face  in  her  bosom. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  answered,  coloring  deeply.  "  Even  as  such  a  son  should 
he  loved  by  a  tender  and  confiding  mother,  proud  of  the  exclusive  devotion 
of  him  to  whom  she  has  given  the  divine  power  to  feel  thus." 

Jler  voice  was  broken  from  excessive  tenderness,  and  her  hands  trembled 
under  the  office  she  was  performing.  It  was  that  of  applying  fresh  and  heal- 
ing salves  to  the  wound  on  his  shoulder,  which  now,  the  incrustration  of  blood 
having  been  removed,  was  discovered  to  be  but  slight. 

"  Then  ten  thousand  times  would  I  become  a  Mussulman  for  this!"  exclaim- 
ed the  animated  boy.  "  Do  you  know,"  he  continued,  his  deep  blue  eyes  fixed 
earnestly,  yet  languishingly  on  her,  and  his  cheek  covered  with  the  same 
burning  glow,  while  his  voice  trembled,  as  if  half  fearful  to  disclose  the  one 
absorbing  thought  of  his  mind,  "  I  am  very  young — only  sixteen — yet  I  am 
what  the  Monk-Knight  would  oull  very  wicked.  I  should  not  love  you  aa  I 
do,  if  you  did  not  permit  me  always  to  look  upon  you  as  my  mother.  I  have 
never  known  the  love  of  one  ;  for  1  was  an  orphan  soon  after  my  birth.  But 
i  have  always  fancied  that,  were  she  alive  and  beautiful,  I  could  dote  upon 
her  to  distraction.  Ah  I  you  will  supply  her  place  to  me.  You  will  be 
my  own  Injautiful  mother.     Say  this,  and  I  am  your  slave  for  ever." 

"  You  mean  my  favorite  page,"  returned  Zuleima,  nearly  as  much 
troubled  and  excited  as  himself.     "  But,  dear  Rudolph,  if  you  are  wicked  ii> 


I' 


1,1 


"  Ji ' ' 


78 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT   OF    ST.    JOHN. 


.  It 


'•■I 
1 


n 


this,  yonr  Zuieima  is  not  lees  so.  Her  sou)  is  anient,  imaginatrve  as 
your  own.  It  is  for  the  very  reason  that  you  feel  as  you  do,  that  I  love  you 
as  I  do.  1  adore  the  bold  thought  that  enters  into  and  fills  the  mind  of  one 
so  tender,  so  delicate,  and  so  beautiful.  Do  you  understand  me  now,  my 
child?"  and  she  laid  an  emphasis  on  the  last  word,  that  perfectly  intoxi- 
cated the  boy  with  delight. 

"  I  do,  I  do.  Oh  mother  !  dear  mother !  sweet  mother !"  he  faintly  as- 
pirated, while  his  feverish  hand  trembled  in  hers. 

"  Yes,  always  your  mother.  Never  think  of  me,  Rudolph,  but  as  a  lost 
mother  at  length  restored  to  you  after  an  absence  of  years.  To  all  the  world 
besides,  you  shall  be  my  page — I  shall  be  mistress  to  my  page  ;  but  in  our 
own  secret  hearts  we  shall  exult  in  the  fancied  afiinity  that  binds  them  each 
more  strongly  to  the  other." 

There  was  an  expression  of  soft  voluptuousness  in  her  whole  countenance 
as  she  uttered  these  words,  which  swelled  the  bosom  of  the  boy  with  the 
most  intoxicating  feelings. 

"One question  more,"  he  returned,  falling  on  his  knees  half-undresasd  us 
he  was,  and  devouring  her  hand  with  kisses ;  "  Oh,  disappoint  me  not  in 
your  answer.  Destroy  not  an  illusion  which  is  so  necessary  to  the  comple- 
tion of  our  happiness." 

*  And  what  now?"  playfully  asked  Zuieima.  "  Yon  really  look  so  seri- 
ous, Rudolph,  that  you  will  make  me  think  you  wish  me  to  run  away  with 
you,  my  son,  and  leave  the  Sultan.  ye.s,  my  child,  the  Sultan  whom  I  so 
love,  but  with  a  love  different  from  that  which  I  entertain  for  you.  to  curse 
the  folly  which  induced  him  to  make  me  woo  you  to  ray  service." 

"  Not  so,"  returned  the  boy.  "  I  ask  not,  1  desire  not,  that  my  own 
beautiful  mother  should  love  her  noble  husband  lees  tlian  her  son.  I  would 
not  have  her  so  ungrateful — so  deficient  in  fulness  of  heart.  My  question 
has  another  and  a  more  delightful  bearing.  My  soul  yearns  to  know  that 
your  age  is  such  that  you  could  have  been  my  mother." 

"Willingly,  dear  Rudolph.  Your  mother  oould  not  well  number  lew 
than  eight-and-twenty  summers  of  the  Christian  reckoning." 

"  Ah  !  who  would  have  thought  it?  Scarce  twenty  do  you  look — so  great, 
so  fresh  is  your  loveliness.  But  you  mock  me.  Surely  you  do  not  mean  to 
say  lliat  you  are  what  you  state,  dearest  mother." 

"I  do,  indeed,  Rudolph.  Were  I  ieae,  I  should  scarcely  comprehend 
how  to  feel  for  you  as  I  do." 

"Ah!  what  joy,"  exclaimed  the  boy,  suddenly  throwing  himself  upon 
the  rich  carpet  at  her  feet.  "  Yo»  are  indeed  my  mother ;  and  I,  with  a 
heart  full  of  fire — a  soul  overflowing  with  deep  tendernese  for  you — am  your 
son.  Yes,  you  are  my  lost  mother,  returned  to  gladden  me  with  your  adored 
love.    Can  you  comprehend  the  fulness,  the  unutterable  fulness  of  my  joy  ^ " 

"  I  do.  1  share  all  your  wild  but  beautiful  imaginings.  Even  as  to  you, 
so  to  me,  these  are  sources  of  the  most  exquisite  blias." 

There  was  a  pause  of  some  moments  in  their  conversation,  but  their  speak- 
ing looks  were  far  more  eloquent  than  words. 


..  ?     ! 


THE    MONK    K-MOUT    OF    hT.    JOHN. 


79 


CHAPTER    XVI 


Lit  no  one  accuse  us  of  painting  scenes  more  vividly — with  a  greater 
warmth  of  coloring — than  they  were  enacted  in  the  age  on  which  we  have 
drawn  for  material  to  show  the  loose  manners  of  the  times.  It  is  pure  hy- 
pocrisy to  draw  the  veil  over  those  portions  of  the  cnisade  history  more  than 
others.  They  form  an  essential  clue  to  the  character  of  the  different  people 
of  the  earth,  and  show  abundantly  that  the  natural  feelings,  strongly 
implanted  in  the  breast  by  the  will  of  the  Almighty,  were  more  acknow- 
ledged and  obeyed  then,  when  the  religious  mania  had  spread  like  a  poison 
throughout  the  arteries  of  unpolished  society,  than  now,  when  many  of  the.*e 
dogmas  are  repudiated  by  all  sensible  and  reflecting  men,  as  insulting  to 
the  majesty  of  God.  And  why,  because  .society — that  society  in  wiiich  the 
wiafe  man  is  compelled  to  mingle  with  the  fool — the  free  and  untrammoled 
in  mind  with  the  bigoted  in  spirit — we  repeat,  bwause  that  society  did  not 
exist  to  mar,  by  ita  own  selfishness,  the  beauty  of  God's  ordinance*.  The 
conscience  of  every  man  told  him  that,  under  no  circumstance-s.  should  he 
wantonly  take  the  life  of  his  fellow,  without  incurring  the  bitter  angni.'-li  of 
remorse  arising  from  the  sacrilege  against  his  t'reator  ;  but  there  were  othor-s 
who  ventured  to  disbelieve,  that  if  the  starving  wretch  who  lived  by  the  will 
and  command  of  his  God,  should  appropriate  to  himself  a  loaf  from  the  ri^h 
funds  of  him  who  hoarded  up  granaries  of  food  to  carry  them,  figurativi>ly,  ti 
his  grave,  the  wrong  was  towards  God,  or  would  be  punished  by  (Jod.  In 
'ike  manner,  they  could  not  believe  that  adultery  was  a  crime  in  the  eytw  of 
Heaven,  because  tl;oy  saw  that  all  men  committed  it,  and  almos»  glorifieil 
themselves  in  the  act,  while  on  woman  it  was  visited  with  the  utmost  seve- 
nty by  their  very  betrayers.  It  was  difficult  to  understand  how  that  whirli 
was  venial  in  the  man,  should  be  criminal  in  tlie  woman  ;  nor  could  they 
comprehend  that  a  great  and  good  God  should  draw  such  a  line  of  distinction 
between  the  sexes,  as  to  make  that  virtue  in  the  one  which  was  guilt  in  the 
other.  Men,  then,  rattier  followed  the  promptings  of  nature  than  existing 
human  laws  ;  and  the  voluptuous  and  impassioned  woman,  strong  in  the 
right  of  that  which  she  felt  to  be  her  own,  seldom  gave,  as  we  find  in  the 
history  of  those  days,  the  offspring  of  the  adultery,  which  was  necessary  to 
stimulate  her  own  sense  of  happiness,  the  opportunity  to  determine  who  wa.= 
its  f"',her.  But  tyranny,  then,  under  the  name  of  society,  had  not  framed  it3 
stringent  laws.  It  had  not  yet  accumulated  fortunes,  and  grown  arrogant  by 
the  humiliating  sale  of  the  most  petty  articles  necessary  to  human  existence. 
Men  had  not  yet  appropriated  to  themselves  millions  of  acres  of  .hat  globe 
which  God  had  given  in  common  to  all.  They  had  not  asserted  their 
exclusive  right  to  a  woman,  when  her  soul  was  filled  with  hatred  for  him- 
self and  ungratifiod  passion  for  another.  They  had  not  attained  that  refine- 
ment of  cruelty  which  drives,  even  from  the  bosom  and  affections  of  neares' 
relatives,  the  dear  and  confiding  girl  who,  yielding  to  that  fulness  and  ten- 
derness of  soul  which  God  had  implanted  in  her  for  the  wisest  of  purposes, 
surrenders  up  at  the  earnest  prayers  of  the  lover  she  adores,  those  transcend- 


1 

I 


f 


80 


THK    MONK    KNIUMT    OF   ht.    JOHN. 


cnt,  unspeakaWe  charms  which  arc  an  inconceivable  and  a  beiiutiCiil  mystery. 
But  all  these  great  atrocities  will  be  no  more  when  the  millenium  arrives. 
We  f^dl^b^^lMl'^'^  *  century  too  soon.  The  world  will  surely  recur  to 
mannpraR^R\vffln  assimilated  to  Uioae  of  past  ages,  as  well  as  to  their 
i'ashions. 

Much  intercourse  with  tlieir  conquerors  had  infused  that  laxity  of  morals 
into  the  hearts  of  the  Saracen  women,  which  prevailed  to  .so  great  a  degree 
among  the  women  of  the  West,  of  whom '(as  we  have  just  remarked)  it  has 
been  said  by  Mills,  a  authority  not  to  be  iiuestioiied,  "  that  considering  that 
the  Cavaliers  (Knights  of  St.  John)  were  to  be  as  pure  xs  vestals,  it  is  sin- 
gular that  the  chastity  of  their  mothers  was  not  looked  to.  Tjegitimacy  does 
not  seem  to  have  been  a  matter  of  moment.  No  regulation  on  the  subject 
w.as  made  till  the  time  of  HiiljIi  de  Revel,  who  was  grand  master  from 
twelve  hundred  and  sixty-two  to  twelve  hundred  and  sixty-eight.  The  order 
then  enacted  that  no  person  could  be  admitted  to  the  profession,  if  either 
himself  or  his  father  had  not  been  born  in  lawful  wedlock,  except,  however, 
the  sons  of  counts  and  persons  of  high  rank  and  quality.  Then,  again,  Joiii- 
ville,  in  his  History  of  King  St.  Louis,  asserts  that  while  the  French 
barons,  knights,  and  others,  who  should  have  reserved  their  wealth  ("or  a  time 
of  need,  gave  themselves  up  to  banquetings  and  carousings,  tlieir  men  sated 
their  lusts  in  the  arms  of  married  women  and  virgins  to  a  itarful  extent,  and 
without  power  in  the  king  to  prevent  them  ;  and,  although  he  dismissed  from 
his  service  many  of  his  otficers  and  soldiers,  these  excesses  continued 
unabated  until  the  aroused  Saracens,  in  their  threatening  attitude,  effected 
that  change  which  considerations  of  virtue  could  not  accomplish.  Nay, 
such  was  the  unbridled  disposition  to  gallantry  of  the  Christian  women  of  all 
ranks,  that  even  the  king's  wife,  Eleonora,  divorced  from  him  on  that  ac- 
count, and  subsequently  married  to  Henry  the  Second  of  England,  gave  such 
unrepressed  indulgence  to  the  reigning  passion  of  her  soul,  that  on  whomso- 
ever the  lust  of  her  eye  fell — Saracen  or  Christian — she  bestowed  the  rich 
voluptuousness  of  her  charms,  with  an  abandonment  that  proved  the  mys- 
teries of  love  to  be  the  dominant  passion  of  her  nature — the  food  on  whicli 
alone  she  lived.  Nor  was  this  remarkable  in  a  woman  wh^  had  previously 
decided  in  a  case  of  appeal  in  the  Provencal  courts,  that  "true  love  cannot 
exist  among  married  people,"'  :i  decision  that  was  strictly  in  accordance  with 
rtie  principle  maintained  in  those  courts,  that  "  marriage  is  no  legiti  nate 


lar  to  the  indulgence  of 


with  another." 


It  i.s  irue  that  all  these  things  occurred  after  the  re-conquest  of  Jerusalem, 
-p  to  which  period  we  have  introduced  the  tender  Zuleima  ;  but  enough  had 
«N!nn  done  by  the  Christians  during  a  long  interval  of  comparative  peace,  to 
instil  into  the  hearts  of  the  eastern  women  much  of  the  looseness  of  moraWi 
of  their  conquerors.  Even  the  purest  of  the«?,  dared  not  refuse  to  their 
sohdiations  whiit  they  well  knew  force  would  be  used  to  obtain  if  they  did, 
until  it  length  tlieir  appetite,  growing  stronger  on  what  it  fed,  and  gratified 
by  iuu;iv — not  confined  to  the  possession  of  one  mister — became  almost  as 
markei'i  as  that  of  the  women  of  the  West  themselves,  while  their  glowing 
and  impa.-iione !  i"\:"7inations  gave  to  its  indulgence,  richness  of  conception 


THE    MONK    KNIOHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


81 


— an  endless  ideality  of  object  which  the  leas  ardent  women  of  the  West — pur- 
suing love  as  much  from  habit  as  from  inclination,  could  but  ill  understand. 

In  the  very  heart  of  these  exeitinff  .scenes  of  voluptuous  abandonment, 
Zuleima  had  been  broufjht  up.  Before  .she  had  numbered  ten  summers,  it 
had  been  her  fate  more  than  once  to  behold  her  .more  mature  comnanion.s 
compelled  to  the  wmiification  of  the  tierce  lu.st  of  their  conquerors,  while 
others,  yitildinj?  to  their  solicitations,  ffave  free  indulgence  to  their  long- 
suppressed  emotions.  All  thi.s  had  Zuleima  witnesst^d,  until  her  young 
bloo<l  tinirled  in  her  veins,  and  Nature,  knocking  lovidly  at  her  heart,  told  her 
that  the  strotifj  excitement  of  her  friends  wa.s  ituiioativf  of  iwiythinij  hut  un- 
willing sacrifice.  Zuleima  had  remarked  this,  and  yet  while  happily  exempt 
Iroin  llir"  same  violence,  she  entertained  no  dtsire  to  partake  of  the  same 
free  indulgeric»' ;  yet,  Jis  she  increased  m  years,  and  the  full  bloom  of  girlhood 
snccrcded  to  the  novitiate  of  childhood,  her  thi'ughta  could  not  but  revert 
glowingly  to  ttie  subjinn,  ami  a  deep  pa.s8ion  for  .some  imaginary  (Christian 
knight — a  l)ean-ideal  paintcil  by  her  own  fruitl'ul  fancy — one  whom  she 
loved  to  invest  with  the  endearing  ties  of  consanguinity,  became  a  fev("r — an 
absorbinc  passion  of  her  soul,  which  she  scarcely  would  have  exchange*!  for 
a  cold  reality.  Of  Moorish  blood,  she  was  ardent  in  the  extreme,  and  yet 
so  delicate  were  her  feelings,  that  though  she  lingered  agr.in  and  again  over 
the  picture  of  intensely  reciprocated  passion  that  had  never  lor  an  instant  been 
effaced  from  her  mind,  she  would  not  have  voluntarily  yielded  to  the  hand- 
somest of  those  knights,  had  he  not  fully  realized  her  soul's  ideality,  and 
furthermore  shared  to  the  uttermost  her  own  wild  and  thrilling  thoughts. 
Possessed  of  little  or  no  education  as  the  eastern  women  were,  and  havecx>n- 
tinued  to  be  to  this  day,  and  indeed  as  the  (irst  ladies  of  the  West  also  were 
at  that  peri(Ml,  she  was.  nevertheless,  gifted  with  great  but  unobtrusive 
!*trength  ol"  minil.  scorning  those  piejudiees  which  equally  influenc<>d  the 
conquerors  and  the  conquered,  and  had  moistened  the  land  with  their  mutual 
bloo<l.  She  (larcfl  inwardiy  toeoudemii,  as  unworthy  that  reason  and  intelli- 
gence which  .\llah  had  irivcn  to  man,  the  belief  that  lie  had  creaie<l  the  human 
race,  in  its  almost  g(><l-like  form,  except  with  a  view  to  the  intense  happi- 
ne^'s  which  that  very  organization  proved  had  been  the  chief  object  of  their 
being.  Reality  could  allbrd  no  such  )oy  to  her  as  did  the  ripe  pointings 
of  her  own  glowing  imajrination.  .Vt  first  she  was  startled  at  the  vivacity  of 
thoughts  wliich  W(nild  force  them.selves  uj>on  her  in  spite  of  all  attempts 
;o  banish  them,  but  tlip  more  she  reflected  the  more  she  became  convin^ied 
of  the  alino't  wickedness  of  endowing  the  great  Oeator  of  all  things  with 
other  attriliuic.f  than  those  of  love,  kindness,  charity,  beneficence,  approval 
on  the  indulgence  of  that  bi-autiful.  that  myster.ous  union  of  the  choices', 
of  his  creatures,  of  which  He,  in  the  t'ulness  oi  his  crowning  and  immor- 
tal glory,  was  ;)t  once  the  fount  and  v-sc*;nee.  Never  could  she  recon- 
cile to  hersilf,  l)ecauseman.  in  his  dogmatic  authority,  asserted  it  to  be  crime, 
'.tmt  the  infinite,  the  perfect  (nnl.  regarded  as  such,  the  sweet  fruits  of  ihe 
surpassing ly-gloriflns  works  of  his  hands.  What  could  l>e  ;  doli^hi  of 
Allah  ?  Suicly  it  was  not  in  seeing  heeatombe  of  his  own  ere' 
and  perishing  in  excruciating  agony — welling  forth  the  pure  ' 
had  infused  into  their  vein.^  for  a  far  diiferoot  purpose — it  c<    ' 


.  n  mangl«Ml 

I    vbich  He 

not  be  that 


ti; 


\i 


THK    MONK    KNIllHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


I 


he  round  pleasure  or  pralifioation  in  the  business,  the  vanity,  the  littlcnooifi, 
the  cheatinj,',  the  lying,  tlic  hypocrisy,  the  hearllessness  of  those  whoso  souls 
had  been  fjivcu  them  for  nolder  purpose*— ^iven  to  them  that  lliey  might  com- 
preheini  and  glorify  the  goodness  of  Ilini  who  had  bestowed  upon  iliem  a  part  of 
His  own  divinity — delegated  to  ihera  the  incoinprehensiide  power  to  create 
thi'ni.'<elveg,  and  by  means  of  sueh  transporting  joy,  as  in  His  gr«at  wisdom, 
III  iiailowcd  with  the  mystery  of  his  own  all-glonou.s  (iodhead. 

Such  were  the  feelings,  the  thoughts,  the  creed  of  the  Iwautiful  Zulnmn, 
when  pIip  had  attained  her  sevenieenlh  year ;  and  yet  with  a  soul  overtlowmjj 
with  love  lor  the  great  Allah,  from  whom  it  was  lier  dtliglit  to  believe  ;U1 
her  impulsive  as|)iraiion8  came — while  painting  images  of  rapture  which 
the  glowing  of  isoul  alone  can  understand,  she  bad  not  yet  lound  him  with 
whom  she  could  partake  of  the  priceiees  and  ecstatic  bliss  lliat  memory, 
aided  by  imagination,  had  painted  on  her  mind.  It  was  then  that  Saladia 
first  l)eb('lil  her,  and  struck  wiili  her  surpassing  beauty,  offered  her  the  high 
position  of  an  eastein  sultan's  wife.  Motives  of  prudenei;  (Ui  the  part  of 
Zuleima,  caused  her  to  accept  an  oiler  that  implied  a  command.  Saladin 
was  no  Sardanajialus,  Ardent  in  his  temperament,  yet  little  understanding 
those  exipiisite  refinementa  which  give  to  enjoyment  its  principal  charm, 
he  had,  in  the  first  years  of  their  union,  and  soon  after  possettsiun,  treatpai 
her  indiflerently  with  the  rest  of  his  wives.  Too  proud,  gentle  l>y  nature  ;u 
she  was,  to  betray  the  disaupointiiient  of  her  love,  she  had  lingered  un  in  the 
eiiilling  ties  of  polygamic  marriage — every  finer  senst;  obtusoti,  and  tier  heart 
bick  at  the  absence  of  her  ideal,  who  alone  could  understand  and  respond  to 
the  secret  fire  at  her  heart.  It  was  at  the  |>eri(Nl,  when  this  leeling  wa;^ 
the  strongest,  that  chance  threw  her  into  the  way  of  de  Doiscourt.  The 
very  first  glance  satisfied  her  soul.  Her  t)eau-ideal  was  ther«i — identifiwl— 
fiiiind  :it  last — and  readily  and  impulsively,  and  with  her  mind  filled  with  the 
intense  thought  that  all  ner  glowing  dreams  were  at  length  on  the  |>oint  ot 
realization,  she  yielded  up  every  suppressed  desire  of  her  heart  to  him,  in 
the  lullcst  lii.xury  ol  a  devoted  woman's  nature.  It  has  been  seen  how  short- 
lived wius  the  cause  for  her  self-congratulation. 

Mor"  radiant  than  evt^r  in  beauty  on  h(!r  return  from  the  Christian  camp, 
Saladiii  had  again  remarked  her,  and  wondering  how  he  could  have  t)een  so 
insensible  to  that  which  had,  on  '.he  first  iiistancu  captivated  his  fancy,  la 
visbcd  all  the  ardor  of  his  love  u|M)n  her,  with  a  fervor,  a  devotixInesM,  whici> 
hail  he  b«'en  but  imaginative  as  lu;rm'lf,  would  have  left  licr  little  to  dosin; 
His  love  was  impetuously,  exclusivtdy  devoted  to  her,  but  it  wa'ite<l  that 
delicacy  of  mind,  that  i<oft  and  dreamy  abandonment  of  the  abeorlNHl  mmX, 
which  she  pined  for  in  the  partner  of  her  nuptial  couch — the  man  who  should 
call  forth  in  her  the  purest  seeds  of  that  chastened  fire  which  she  hvjkod 
upon  as  a  sacred  gift — a  beautiful  Ikiou  from  Allah.  To  her  glowing  and 
impassioned  buul,  mere  phy.iical  piUision,  gross  stMisuality,  had  no  chamis 
Apart  from  the  k*H;ner  emotions  which  sting,  which  miulden  the  blood 
through  the  imagination,  she  felt  mere  animal  indulgence  to  lie  degrading 
in  the  extreme.  There  was  no  doubt  guilt,  according  to  the  fiat  of  society 
and  the  church,  in  even  imagining  that  illicit  lov*;,  which  Adah  found 
BO  sweet  when  she  commenced  the  task  of  peopling  the  world  ;   but,  unlike 


I 


m 


I'm:  .MONK  KMrirr  ok  m'.  joh\. 


S3 


oaiii(>, 
)uen  so 
icy,  la- 

whici. 

tiMl  that 
mmI  doul, 
o  should 
looked 
mg  iuid 
I'hamw 
(•   blood 

sot'ioiy 
ill)  found 
itnlike 


Adah's,  licr  iiicrsiiKnis  love  was  born  only  of,  iii"!  existed  wholly  in,  hor 
ardent  imagination,  which,  uniting  all  tics  in  one.  iuxnriuted  in  their  pos- 
aeasioii  with  a  bouiidleaaness  of  jilcasurc  no  laiiguiio;)'  can  adiniuatcly 
convey.  Still  nIic  lovcil  her  Imsltaiid — loved  him  not  'iily  lor  himself,  but 
for  the  I'rtHjiienl  opiKirUinitics  he  gave  her  to  revel  in  .n  flowing  i)icliires  of 
her  imaginative  mind,  and  most  on  that  recalled  by  th  memory  of  her  adven- 
ture with  tlie  haiui»onie  French  Knight. 

It  was  nil  fault  ot  his  that  Suladin  siiared  not  her  seer.  ;  sympathies,  re- 
sponded not  to  her  dearest  iiupulsi's.  He  had  never  known,  never  suspected 
their  existence,  nor  was  it  for  her  to  im|>arl  them,  unless  sought  by  one  of 
eorres(i<(n(ling  character  and  feeling,  (iradually  she  had  been  led  to  believe 
that  slic  was  alone  in  her  ideas  of  hajipinesK,  an<l  that  she  had  been  lavishing 
the  warnirst  aflections  of  her  heart  upon  that  winch  must  ever  remain  a  sha- 
(fow — that  no  kindi'tul  mind  wtiuld  ever  be  liiund  to  throw  even  the  semblance 
of  reality  iiv(>r  the  rich  imagination  of  her  miiturer  womanhood. 

No  wonder  then  that,  with  a  mind  so  consliluled,  feelings  so  voluptuously 
toned.  Znleima  »houlil  have  telt  iier  scuil  intoxicated  with  delight,  as  the 
tender  but  impassioned  Rudolph,  resembling  rather  an  angel  of  light,  than  a 
being  of  mortality,  first  avoweil  to  her  sentiments  so  kindred  to  those  which 
preyed  like  a  devouring  tiri'  upon  her  blood.  The  world,  altlioiit;h  then 
abandoned  to  the  lowest  profligacy  and  vice,  hatt  still  iis  prejudices;  but 
these  could  offer  no  restriction  to  the  soaring  nund.  The  very  liarrier  that 
wasoulwar(i!y  iniposed  on  it,  made  it  the  nion;  auxituis  to  overleap.  The  pro- 
hibition of  iho  reality  rendered  the  semblance  more  intenne.  Zuleima  had 
thought  deeply  on  the  subject,  and  unlike  the  millions  ot  women  who  sur- 
rounded lier  Were  it  possible  that  she  could  now  arise  tVoni  the  dead  and 
witness  the  long  delayed  expansion  of  human  intelle<'t.  winch  is  fast  assum- 
ing a  strength  that  must  soon  uproot  all  prejudice  that  estrani;es  the  hum:ui 
he.irt,  and  shackles  the  nidtlest  iin|uilses  ol  our  nature,  she  would  see  that 
man  was  rapi>lly  ailo|)iiiig  her  own  cherished  theories,  lor  she  would  beiiold 
.1  nation  hithevo  ■  unsidered  the  most  moral  of  the  earth,  uniting  through  their 
leadeis — men  i  I' sound  ludgment  and  enlarged  minds — to  divest  of  the  name 
and  odium  nf  eriininul  love,  one  of  the  most  di  lightful  feelinc-  of  the  human 
heart,  that  oJ  i;api:rtnii;  io  I'le  soul  of  the  cherished  and  favoriie  sister  of  one's 
departed  wife,  tiiut  tide  of  happiness  which  had  sutl'used  her  own  ••  What 
lotds,"  yhe  would  have  been  m.-iined  to  exclaim.  For  what  dearer  in  love 
iha.  which  weds  you  in  the  sam*'  holy  bond,  her  wlnmi  you  have  known  in 
e'.ery  phase  of  inlimac, ,  and  who.  in  briiiguig  back  the  dear  image  (,i  htr 
whom  you  still  mourn,  tills  your  rapt  soul  with  a  two-tidd  '-iiiotion  of  delight 
— confuieil  not  to  yourself,  but  to  her  who  succee«l«.  and  diopt*  a  tear  to  luir 
memory  in  your  arms.  What,  too,  would  be  her  triumph,  tn  ^e  the  capital 
of  the  most  intellectual  city  of  the  world,  returniiu.'  as  their  delegate,  in  the 
temples  nf  wisdimi,  the  man  whose  writings  have  ever  been  inculcating  the 
creed  of  her  own  lieart,  and  of  whose  last,  it  is  said,  that  no  bookseller  darn 
to  appciid  his  nam*'  to  it — no  vender  to  place  it  on  his  count^T.  Hut  the  niil- 
leiiium  has  not  yet  ..rrived.  .Men  desire,  but  fear  the  approach  ol  perlecl 
happiness.     Women  understand  it  better. 

Thus  would  Zuleimi  liave  B|)oken,  in  all  the  warmth  of  her  iinaginalive 


i 


84 


THK    MONK    KNKiHT   OF    .sT.    JOHN. 


U4 


i  -1 


Boul.  She  woiilil  have  been  startled  to  luMr  it  confessed  to  iMtonished  mul- 
titudes, that  that  was  not  crime,  but  virtuo\iJi  passion,  which  the  de«cend- 
ants  of  the  ('hristiiin  spoliators  of  her  own  native  land  had,  for  age's,  stamped 
as  iht!  fornner ;  but  aj^ainst  which  the  fjrcai  (iiwi,  who  created  the  world  in 
a  tieauty,  winch  man  himself  alone  has  marred,  had  n»!ver  proiiounceil  his 
fiat.  She  would  have  had  no  ditficnlty  ui  ijivinin^j  that,  of  all  thorn'  preju- 
dices which  yet  enslave  the  human  heart,  imiie  would  he  much  loncjer 
suflercd  by  the  enlightened  mind  to  disgrace  the  goodness  of  the  fTcator,  but 
that  immutable,  and  stern,  and  just  one,  which  demands  the  blood  of  him 
who  has  taken  from  his  fellow,  the  first  and  most  precious  of  His  gifU. 
'l'h;it  He  has  willed  His  severest  judgment  against  the  wanton  destroyer  of 
the  breathing  work  of  immortal  hands,  she  had  eve-  religiously  believed. 
That,  with  blasphemv  and  foul  slander,  were  the  onlv  crimes  sIk-  admitted 
against  God  ,  ,iil  thf  others  wen'  of  human  invention 

No  wonder,  then,  that  the  loveZiileima  bore  the  boy.  who  dared  to  think 
as  hi'  did — who  thoiiglif  iike  herself' — fearlessly,  yet  .secretly  and  voluptu- 
ously, was  the  sweelext  siir  had  e^rer  known.  She  had  at  length  met  him 
f(jr  whom  her  he.trt  ftad  so  long  oincd  in  vain  Her  second  .self  h.oil  bwen 
found,  not  exactly  the  l)eau-ideal  of  hi-r  younger  years,  but  one  whom  her 
own  incieii.sed  fulness  of  womanhood  cau.sed  her  now  to  prize  the  more.  It 
suited  111  r  voluptnous  fancy  t»etter  that  the  sweet  fever  of  lieHove  should  lie 
unde-^iDod  and  shared  by  the  daring  and  beautiful  boy,  than  by  the  .st>-nier 
and  '.(lore  ripeufd  man.  Moreover,  her  feelings  of  preference  partook  of  i 
d' able  c.haraet'  To  the  strong  and  exinundinary  feeling  he  had  infused 
inio  her,  after  the  interchange  of  their  inuUial  explanation,  she  unite<i  all  the 
tf^iiderness  and  affection  of  a  mother '  There  was  a  newness,  a  freshness, 
a,"i  inipulsivene.s.s.  and  yet  a  .subdued  languor  in  the  one,  which  she  could  not 
expect  to  find  in  the  o?hcr.  Nevtr  was  Adonis  dearer  to  Venus  ;  and  as  that 
v«duptuous  goddess  t()und  deeper  joy  in  the  fresh  love  of  the  hunter  boy,  than 
in  those  of  the  iron-sinewed  Vulcan  or  the  vigorous  Mars,  so  did  the  Iwautiful 
and  lender  Zuleima  prefer  the  freshness  of  Rudolph  to  the  maturity  of 
Saladin,  even  vihile  she  lavishe*!  all  her  lenderness  on  l)oth. 


\    , 


H 


CHAPTER    XVIi 

Tn£  captive  Monk-Knight  sat  alone  in  the  handsome  tent  which  S&Udin 
had  aasi^ '!  d  him  on  hearing  from  h>s  lips,  at  the  dose  of  the  battle  of  Tibe- 
rias, the  service  rendered  by  himself  and  de  IJoiscourt.  It  has  been  attributed 
Ui  the  Saracon  chief  that  he  was  full  of  artifice  and  treachery.  Here  w.is  an 
occasion  when  he  thought  himself  justif«'d  in  having  recourse  to  them  at  the 
expense  oven  of  the  honor  of  his  captive,  to  whom  he  felt  himself  to  bo  in- 
debted. The  statement  made  in  the  presence  of  the  (Irand  Master,  and  of 
the  other  knights  of  the  two  orders,  of  his  having  embrr-jjed  Moftlemism  (o 


»■ 


THE    MONK    KNIOHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


85 


tonished  mul- 
,  the  dcRcend- 
;i(Tei,  stamped 

the  world  in 
rnnouix'fd  his 
11  thortt'  prej\i- 

jnnch  lonijpr 
le  Creator,  but 

blood  of  him 
,  of  His  !?ifl«- 
n  destroyer  of 
mslv  believed. 
4  she  admitted 

dareil  to  think 
y  iind  voliiptu- 
len^tb.  met  him 
1  self  had  bwen 
one  whom  her 
p  the  more.     Ft 
•4ove  should  l»e 
1  by  the  sf-nier 
ce  partook  of  ^ 
he  hati  infused 
le  unite*!  all  the 
188,  a  freshnesfi, 
•h  .■she  eould  not 
1U8  ;  and  as  that 
[innier  boy,  than 
did  the  l)eautiful 
ihe    maturity  of 


It  which  Saladin 
battle  of  Tibe- 
9  been  atiributed 
Here  was  an 
fn]  to  them  at  the 
himself  to  be  in- 
d  Master,  .ind  of 
ed  Muftlemmin  to 


Have  hid  life,  wiis  false,  and  tuld  at  tiitt  own  (rommand.  Saladin  had  licard 
of  the  jrreat  fame  for  piety  and  virtue  of  the  .Monk-Knight — remarkable  even 
amotifi  the  Templars,  and  striet  Knights  of  St  John,  and  he  wa»  determined, 
if  po.KBible,  to  turn  it  to  aeeount.  It  would  have  been  a  greater  trium|)h  to 
him  to  eompel  these  proud  and  unlnMuiinp  men  to  beeome  eoiiverta  to  Mos- 
leminni,  than  to  have  seen  them  bow  their  necks  to  the  8<'imeter.  He  well 
knew  that  death  earried  no  terror  with  it,  lor  that  was  always  familiar  '.o 
them  ;  but  the  shame  ot  apostaey  must  live  lor  ever  uj-  a  tjangrene  at  their 
hearts.  He  had  therefore  eaused  the  knights  to  be  summoned  tofjether, 
after  having  duly  inslrueted  hisoHicer,  who  f?ave  in  their  presenee  the  an.swer 
that  has  been  reeordeil — an  answer  which  lilltid  the  hearts  of  all  with  shame 
and  sorrow,  that  one  so  noble — so  universally  looked  up  to — should  have 
proved  thus  recreant  to  his  vows.  Saladin  had  been  betrayed  into  iinpulnive 
aiiyer  by  the  m.sulting  tone  in  which  the  (Irund  Master  had  alluded  to  his 
religmti,  and  therefore,  in  the  mood  of  exasperation  evinced  by  the  kni[ihts 
frenerally,  he  deemed  it  more  prudent — more  likely  to  efleet  the  object  he 
had  in  view — to  give  them  until  morning  to  cool  their  hlood,  and  to  ponder 
well  over  the  course  they  iielieved  the  Monk  had  jnirsued. 

Me;inwhile,  unconscious  of  the  injury  that  was  bcint;  done  to  his  reputa- 
tion in  the  hearing  of  his  honorable  comrades,  Abdajlah  yat  alonii  in  the  un- 
gnurded  tent  which  his  priestly  character  had  eaused  Saladin  to  allot  to  him 
in  that  portion  of  the  ».'ncarnpment  which  contained  his  seratrlio.  His  !no(Hl 
was  thoughtful,  and  yet  on  his  noble  hrow  there  linjiered  that  calm  lieiievo- 
lenee — that  holy  placidity  which,  almost  always,  wiu-  observable  there,  even 
in  the  thickest  of  the  battle — for,  unlike  the  other  knights,  he  wore  no  vi^or 
attached  to  his  helmet,  when  his  herculean  arm  cut  down  whole  scctioim 
of  Saracens  as  easily  as  the  mower  cuts  down  the  gra.ss  of  the  field.  But 
though  his  hriiw  was  unruflled.  there  were  wild  thoughts  stirring  at  his 
heart.  Deep  sorrow,  too,  was  there  ;  for  he  mourned  the  beloved,  the  gene- 
rous friend  of  his  liogom.  And  when  he  reflected  that  he  should  never  again 
behold,  railiant  with  life  and  inielligence,  that  handsome  face  which  he  had 
s»)  long  loved  to  dwell  upon,  a  tear — the  first  and  only  one  he  ever  sli(;d — 
stole  down  his  cheek,  a  heartfelt  tribute  to  the  memory  of  the  uay.  ami 
brave,  and  hiuh-suii  led  young  knight. 

(IradiKilly  his  thoughts  a.ssumed  another  turn.  He  reverted  to  the  Luly 
Krnestina,  and  as  he  pictured  her  glowing  and  widowed  beauty  given  up 
to  his  posse.-*sion,  even  as  he  had  seen  that  of  the  wife  of  Saladin  given  t<. 
her  noble,  yet  ill-fated  husband,  his  desire  for  her  became  so  iiupetuous,  that 
he  ground  his  teeth  in  anguish  at  the  recollection  of  the  possibility  ot'  his 
never  being  permitted  to  behold  her  ;  for  he, like  his  companions,  was  awire 
that  every  knight  who  refused  to  adopt  the  koran  as  his  creed,  was  doomed 
to  perish.  Should  his  life  be  spared,  all  restraint  upon  his  passion  would  be 
removed.  Hi-  triend  dead — his  order  almost  annihilated — the  (Miri.stian 
cause  apparently  abandoned  by  God  hiniself — he  had  promptly  decided  upon 
his  course.  Never  would  he  embrace  Moslemism — never  would  he  he  cftm- 
pelleil  to  abjure  f 'hristiauity  ,  but,  if  necessary,  he  would  forsake  that  cowl 
to  which  experience  proved  he  had  hitherto  dcToted  hiniself  in  vam.  Para- 
dise— the  paradise  of  the  Lady  Pirnestina's  arms — would  richly  repay  him 


80 


THK    M(».\K     kNKilir    (»K    ^ T.    JOHN. 


for  tli(!  stccMKHi.  Ill  t'lttiiru  she  hIiouIiI  Iu>  IiIh  hope,  liis  temple,  .iiiil  lii.s 
Hliriiif  (if  holy  lovf.  'I'wcnty  ycjirs  ;ii  li'ii^i  "t"  ltli^<H  kIio\i1<1  he  IiIh  oh  hur 
liixiiridiiM  bosom.  Twciily  yt-iirs,  iii  Ira.st,  ilif  lirli  yiilaxy  of  lii-r  oliarius 
Bliniild  Uc  iM'Mtowcd  on  him.  Twenty  years  at  loust  should  they  botli 
rcali'A-  that  strange  anil  iiiloxieatini,'  hli^  nliii-li  he  rather  imagined  ihun 
understood. 

A  (jrcjit  ehaiijfe  liad  eome  over  the  mhui  ot"  Ahdallah  sinee  he  hud  be- 
held the  rieli  beauty  of  Ziileima  ;  first,  when  bound  to  the  syeamore  tree,  her 
long  and  lloatiiifj  hair  but  lialf-eonccalmg  her  foreed  nakedness  ;  next,  when 
extended  on  the  velvet  moas,  she  lay  exposed  to  the  fjloatinjj  eyes  of  'Phi- 
band.  And  that  bosom  bis  eye  had  not  dared  to  jjaze  upon,  his  hand  had 
chanced  to  touch,  after  placing  heron  the  saddle  before  de  Boiscourt  ThcBC 
were  the  fust  (jerms  of  knowledge  of  the  sex  of  woman  the  Monk-K night 
had  ever  known  ;  and  when,  towards  the  dawn  of  that  night,  he  bebeld  de 
Boiscourt  already  folded  in  her  arms,  and  uttering  nnirnmrs  of  joy,  to 
which  she  wildly  responded  with  her  sighs,  the  veil  was  wholly  removed, 
and  now,  for  the  first  time,  he  eomprelujnded  that  pining  after  something — 
he  knew  not  what — which  had  oft  visited  him  in  his  monkish  cell.  Frotn 
that  hour,  deep  were  the  struggles  of  his  soul  w  ith  guilt ;  night  after  night 
had  he  knelt  in  prayer  to  heaven  to  strengthen  him  in  his  purity.  But  it  wan 
in  vain  that  he  attempted  to  baniish  the  reeollcctH)n  of  what  he  had  seen  and 
known.  It  would  surprise  him  in  his  orisons — it  would  haunt  him  in  his 
sleep-^it  would  be  the  last  thing  he  thought  of  on  retiring  to  lim  rude  couch 
— his  first  thought  on  waking.  And  yet,  the  piission  engendered  by  these 
images,  might  have  been  mastered  in  lime — abst-ncs  from  objects  calculated 
to  inflame  might  have  redeemed  the  error — for  such  in  a  man  eon.tistent 
with  himself  it  wa.s — and  restored  him  to  his  original  purity  of  mind.  But 
alas '  de  Boiscourt  did  more  by  his  description  of  his  beautiful  wite  to  un- 
do the  stern  virtue  of  the  Monk-Knight,  than  did  that  which  he  had  even  seen 
and  felt.  That  temptation  he  resisted  as  long  as  he  could,  but  such  frequent 
recurrence  to  the  subject  was  adding  fuel  to  the  fire,  until  in  the  end  his  pas- 
sion for  her  became  .-so  intense,  that,  as  has  Injen  seen,  he  promised  to  make 
the  greatest  aacrifice  on  earth — that  of  his  Church — to  make  her  his  own  for 
ever. 

Such  were  the  feelings  of  Abdallab — such  bis  resolution,  as  now  he  pon- 
d(!re<l  deeply  on  the  future.  His  monastic  vows  had  no  longer  a  charm  for 
him — that  charm,  which  in  the  pious,  is  derived  from  the  consciousness 
of  the  performance  of  a  strict  duty,  and  yet  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that 
his  possession  of  the  beautiful  Lady  Erncstina  need  not  involve  the  violation 
of  his  connexion  with  the  Hhurch,  which  would  rather  give  a  character  of 
holiness  to  his  passion.  He  would,  in  ihat  case,  be  at  once  her  husband  and 
her  confessor,  and  the  Monk  should  make  atonement  for  the  sin  of  the  man. 
The  very  idea  excited  him,  and  though  his  countenance,  ever  .serene,  betrayed 
not  the  workings  of  nis  mind,  he  luxuri.ited  in  the  thought  of  first  possessing 
her,  as  himself,  in  his  priestly  character,  until  his  impatience  of  delay  be- 
came so  great,  that  he  was  compelled  to  pace  his  tent,  in  the  hojie  of  dis- 
tracting his  attention  from  the  subject.  But  the  effon  was  vain.  There,  in 
the  crouching  attitude  of  a  Venus,  stood  the  beautttul  woman.  •>»)  pul|>ably 


!■ 


THE    MONK    KNIOHT    Of    ST.    JOHN. 


87 


delineated  to  his  mind'R-eyc,  that  it  stirnmi  (gifted  with  warmth  and  motion 
—  an  enchanting  vision  —  with  lonf>  floating  hair  that  appeared  to  smile 
throiiph  her  hall'-cloacd  lips  of  pure  and  moiiitKned  red,  and  woo  him  with 
soft  and  meltin(j  eyes  to  her  outstretched  arms.  Whichever  way  ho 
turnetl — however  much  he  endeavored  to  di«|M!l  the  illusion  by  forced  recur- 
rence 10  IcNH  exciting  subjects,  that  imafro  was  still  there,  rich  in  the 
utmost  ()ert'ection  of  woman's  loveliness.  The  fire  of  his  heart  becaujo  now 
mcupportable.  He  could  have  died  in  the  next  hour  to  possess  hor  then, 
for  still  the  (riorious  and  beauteous  imaf^e  haunted  him.  ('old  drops  of  per- 
»])iration  fell  from  his  brow,  and  he  almost  i^asped  for  breath.  Then  thinking 
that  the  darkness  might  afford  him  relief,  he  partially  removed  his  armor 
and  the  outward  portion  of  his  drees,  and  then  extinguished  his  lamp. 

Liooking  out  at  his  tent-door,  he  saw  from  the  appraiance  of  the  heavens, 
that  it  was  near  morning.  The  whole  camp  of  Saladin  was  evidently  wrapped 
in  sleep,  for  scarce  a  sound  was  heard  but  that  of  the  moving  sentinels.  He 
cloeedthe  a|)erture  an<l  again  paced  the  interior.  Soon  he  saw  a  liglit  at  one 
end.  admitted  evidently  through  a  second  imperfectly-closed  0|>fcning  in  the 
thin  canvass.  He  approached  it,  and  looking  through  beheld  what  had  not 
hitherto  attracted  his  attention — another  lent  of  slighter  material ;  the  en- 
tranc<>  to  which  was  folded  back  as  if  to  admit  the  air,  and  showing  the 
rich  decorations  of  the  interior.  While  he  gazed,  surprised  to  see  so  gorge- 
ous a  lent  in  the  heart  of  so  rude  an  encampment  of  armed  warriors,  he 
looked  through  the  muslin  and  distinctly  beheld,  in  outline,  the  shadow  of  a 
female  form  so  richly  moulded,  that,  excited  as  he  was  by  the  feelings 
that  had  U-en  for  hours  preying  upon  his  soul,  he  could  not  resist  the 
strong  temptation  that  impelled  him  to  see  more  of  her.  He  threw  open  the 
newly-discovered  entrance  to  his  own  tent  and  passed  out ;  then,  pausing  for 
a  moment,  he  glanced  around  endeavoring  to  penetrate  the  darkness  that 
everywhere  prevaile<l.  Finding  that  all  was  still,  he  looked  again  upon  the 
figure,  strongly  relieved  by  that  time,  by  a  light  that  stood  near.  She  was 
evidently  undressing,  and  the  shadow  of  each  garment  could  be  traced  as  it 
fell  from  the  form  of  the  wearer.  Presently  a  mass  of  slowly  unrolling  hair 
fell  over  the  tunic  which  alone  remained.  More  than  all  else,  the  sight  of 
that  reduntiant  hair  inflamed  the  bkMxi  of  the  Monk-Knight.  It  reminded 
him  of  her  who,  even  in  the  presence  of  another,  stood  before  him  The 
priest  was  gone,  the  man  alone  stood  confessed.  He  trembled  in  every 
limb,  his  muscles  became  hard  and  swollen;  his  robust  frame  expanded.  He 
must  liavc  beei,  more  than  human  to  have  suppressed  the  tumult  of  his  over- 
toiling passion.  Still  he  hesitated.  He  thought  of  the  danger  ;  not  that 
death  in  the  abstract  had  any  fear  for  him,  but  that  it  must  for  ever  rob  him 
of  Krnestina,  the  goddess  of  his  adoration.  At  that  moment  the  figure  left 
the  shade  and  approached  a  small  table,  as  if  to  placo  tlie  lamp  there  before 
extinguishing  it.  The  Monk  now  beheld,  in  the  full  glare  of  light,  her 
magnificent  bosom  uncovere<l,  and  slightly  pendant,  as  she  stooped  over  Uie 
table  ;  one  white  and  moulded  arm  gracefully  put  forward  with  the  lamp, 
the  other  thrown  across  her  waist  to  supply  the  absence  of  a  girdle,  while 
the  full  volume  of  her  jet  black  hair,  extending  to  the  knee,  almost  embraced 


i  M 


il 


88 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OP    fiT.    JOHN. 


with  its  luxuriant  tuinoM,  the  mow-white  tunic  that  was  only  partially 
Tiaible. 

Abdallah  could  endure  thi«  no  lonfrer.  Iiiko  h  mnn  ruahing  madly  upoo 
deetructioii.  he  (■ro«w>(l  the  Hlight  iipacre  that  ii(!|)!iratri<l  him  froin  liur.  Ar- 
rived at  the  thrpnhold.  atrain  he  ^muiu'c*.  TIip  reiiiaie  Unrncd  her  faco  towards 
him,  and  sturtrtd  at  tho  nijjht  ot  ^  i!...!i  w  in  ar  her  Tlui  first  ylanre  ho  ob- 
taiiwMJ  ol"  her  larc.  amiired  the  Monk-Kninht  «>(  itu'  |ireHcnee  of  IiIa  former 
Saracen  captive.  MaHdmied  by  the  conteiiipiatiori  of  her  b<>auty,  thus  again 
brought  slnkmglv  Ixfure  him.  Ins  own  noblt>  '■ouiittMiancr  shone  with  an 
oxproMiioii  thiit  wan  indcscribablf.  but  winch  brought  the  warm  bItNid  into 
Zuleiina'e  chpok,  aa.  recognizing  the  Monk.  f.Ii.*  raimvl  her  hands  in  mute 
astonmhmont  and  joy.  /VltdallHli  put  his  tingt>r  siginficuntly  to  his  \i\)H.  The 
only  reply  of  /uleniia  was  a  smile,  such  an  the  llouns  only  Itostuw  ujion 
angels.  The  Monk-Knight  was  elootrihi^d.  lie  passed  the  tliroshold — 
he  threw  a  hurried  glance  around  to  see  if  she  was  alon(!,  and  that  glance 
sufficed  to  show  hiiii  the  itosition  <>'°  all  eouspicuoim  obj(>cts  in  the  t.^iit.  She 
hurriedly  extinguished  the  lamp,  when  rdl  b<>camc  dark  as  midnight.  Drool- 
ing her  flight,  and  yet  reatisured  by  that  enelianting  Hiiiile,  one  bound  brought 
Abdallah  to  the  8|>ot  where  she  still  stood,  trembling  also  with  agitation  and 
excitement.  With  a  groan  that  came  from  the  deptlis  of  Ins  now  wild  and 
impassioned  soul,  he  caught  her  in  his  anns  from  the  carjict,  and  enfolded 
lier  to  his  heaving  cheat. 

What  language  shall  pretend  to  paint  the  ecstatic  feelings  ot  him  who, 
in  the  full  vigor  of  his  unbroken  manhooil.  first  prewses  to  hi:)  maddened 
heart  that  angel,  clothed  in  luxuri.-int  and  burpiutsing  beauty,  who  has  been 
given  to  him  to  lie  the  pure  and  holy  temple  of  his  lovu.  Fur  some  luoineotii 
Abdallah  could  not  sfieuk.  His  large  frame  trembled  ;  Ins  hand  earesAod  ;  ht) 
drank  in  her  murmurc<l  sighs  ;  lier  arms  were  around  Ins  neck  ;  her  fragrant 
kisses  bcdewe<l  his  lips  :  her  unbound  h..;r  floated  over  his  shouldtrrs. 

"  Father,  holy  fiuher,"  murmured  '/uleima,  m  Moorish,  "do  you,  then, 
at  last,  love  her  whom  you  saved  from  worse  than  death  '  shall  slie  yet  havs 
a  place  in  your  heart'" 

"  Ijove  !"  said  the  Monk,  fiercely  .  "  profane  not  the  term.  What  I  feel 
for  you  IS  ungovernable  passion  provoked  by  an  image  that  is  even  novr 
floating  before  me  in  all  the  radiance  of  her  9urp.x8sing  beauty." 

Zuleima  did  not  reply,  but  pressing  her  arm  more  fuudly  around  his  neck, 
faintly  sighed. 

"  Nay,  sigh  not,"  whispered  the  Monk,  in  a  milder  tone.  "  It  is  not  that 
y<iU  are  not  lovely  also,  but  that  she  is  herself  alone — unapproachable.  My 
soul  is  hers." 

The  day  was  beginning  to  dawn.  The  Monk-Knight  imprinted  a  last 
proof  of  his  strong  desire  upon  the  heaving  bosom  of  Zuleima,  who,  in 
her  turn  pressed  him  to  her  throbbing  heart. 

As  he  rose,  she  followed.  She  knelt  at  his  feet — she  embraced  his  knees 
— then  rising  and  taking  a  ring  from  her  finger,  and  placing  it  on  the  IJttle 
finger  of  the  hand  she  had  taken,  she  munnured, 

"  One  last  blessing,  holy  father,  I  ask  of  you.  Accept  and  wear  this  ring 
for  my  sake.     It  is  that  which  I  prize  the  most,  and  therefore  1  give  it  to 


THB    MONK    KNJOHT    OK    ^T.    JOHN, 


you.  It  was  my  father's,  eiitTimted  to  nip  m  pletig<>  to  restore  it  nhniild  1 
ever  meet  his  fimt-born  son,  loiijj  absent  from  Ins  fami)y ;  but  as  time  and 
circumstances  show  that  this  may  never  h*\  I  [ireseni  it  to  you.  When  in 
the  anus  ol"  the  La«ly  Krnestinii — oh  '  ha|i|i} .  happy  •'nriHtiiiii  woman  ! — you 
chance  to  look  on  this,  bestow.  I  pray,  one  passmp  thoupht  on  me," 

Z'lleima  wept,  and  her  sobs  were  aiidibh'  Ashamed  ot  the  finry  passion 
wnieh  had  made  him  untaithlul  to  the  wniiiuii  lie  udored.  the  Monk-Knif^ht, 
still  tenderly  feeling  for  the  evident  norrow  oi  the  Saracen  at  partinp  with 
hiin.  pressed  her  once  more  to  hi.n  heart,  itiid  imprinting;  a  kiss  u|>on  her 
beautiful  and  burning  cheek,  withdrew  with  cautious  step,  as  he  had  entered, 
in  the  dark. 


'^ 


CHAV T F.n    X  V  n  I. 


Scarcely  had  ihc  Monk-Knight  time  to  resume  his  armor,  when  an 
officer  appeared  to  summon  him  b«jfor<i  Saiudin,  in  whose  presence  the  great 
bo<ly  of  the  Christian  kiii),'lit<<  were  ut-Kembled  to  reo(3ive  their  doom.  A 
iiiurmur  of  disapprobation  arose  ainuiip  hii^  eompaiiions  as  he  entered.  All 
turned  their  looks  liaughtily  and  glooinily  upon  him,  and  one  stalwart  Tem- 
plar, more  insolent  than  the  rest,  struck  him  a  Idow  with  his  ungloved  hand 
— an  act  that  was  followed  by  a  smile  of  derision  from  the  rest.  But  the 
mortified  and  indignant  Monk,  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  this  gross  outrage, 
repaid  the  blow  witli  fearfully  retriluitivc  justiee.  Hapid  a.s  thought  his  own 
heavy  hand  struck  the  Templar  on  the  iirow,  and  in  the  next  instant  he  was 
:i  corpse  at  his  feet.  The  other  knights  woiilil  have  interfered  to  avenge  his 
death,  but  .Saladin,  furious  with  rage,  comnnnded  the  guard  to  stay  this  un- 
seemly conduct  of  the  Christian  knights,  and  to  slay  whomsoever  ahould  dare 
to  lay  a  hand  \ipoii  the  Monk. 

•'  Well  may  the  apostate  from  Ciod  lind  favor  in  the  eyes  of  his  Moslem 
stKlucer,"  scornfully  remarked  the  head  of  his  own  order.  "  But  yesterday 
and  1  would  have  defied  all  Chrislendoni  lo  produce  a  warrior  of  more  un- 
tainted virtue — of  more  unsullied  lame." 

"  Yea,  strange  things  have  been  since  ycterday,"  replied  the  Monk,  with 
gravity,  a  faint  and  trn-isieiit  glow  jjassing  over  his  noble  and  intellectual 
brow.  "  But  what  means  this'  Wherefore  atn  I  summoned  here?  Who 
knows  of  my  fall  from  virtue  1*' 

"  You  admit  it  then  ;  it  is  no  slander  on  the  holiness  of  your  past  life?" 
returned  the  Grand  Master,  lifting  up  his  clasped  hands,  in  wonderment,  to 
heaven. 

"  I  do — 1  admit  it,"  vehemently  returned  the  Monk-Knight;  "and  my 
soul  glories  in  the  divine  knowledge.  Up  to  this  hour  I  have  lived  in  vain. 
Let  fools  live  on  regarding  well  those  vows  that  wed  them  to  monastic  life 
I'd  peril  all  of  hope  a  thousand  tunes  to  taste  again  the  joy  the  wondrouA 
change  has  wrought  in  me.  But  who  has  so  well  u'lformed  you,  old  com- 
panions of  many  a  toilsome  hour  ?' 


m 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


:^ 


^ 


1.0 


1^ 

11.25 


Ik 


m 


2.2 


1.4 


'1.6 


Photographic 
_Sdences 
Corporation 


23  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)872-4503 


) 


90 


THE  MONK  KNIGHT  OF  ST.  JOHN. 


I, 


1    ,  ^11 


•     i 


"  Who  should,  but  Saladin  himself,"  returned  the  Grand  Master.  •'  Who 
else  were  conscious  of  the  <juihy  fact.  His  eye  was  on  you  from  the  very 
first.  He  marked  the  cover',  weakness  of  your  soul,  aud  now  tie  triumphs  in 
your  fall." 

The  Monk-Knight  replied  not.  He  was  confounded.  Saladin  knew  all, 
and  yet  he  lived.  What  could  this  seeming  clemency  mean  !  or  what  hor- 
rible fate  was  reserved  for  him,  and,  more  cruel  still,  for  Zuleima  '  He 
marked  the  kindling  eye  of  the  Saracen  chief  fixed  on  him,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  it  cost  him  an  effort  to  prevent  his  own  from  quailing  beneath 
his  fiery  glance. 

"  Christian  Knights,  no  more,"  haughtily  exclaimed  the  Sultan,  who 
clearly  seeing,  though  he  could  not  understand  the  purport,  that  the  Monk 
had  misinterpreted  the  meaning  of  his  comrades,  was  not  desirous  that 
further  converse  should  enlighten  them.  "  Stand  forth  and  answer,  have 
you  thought  well  of  our  proposal,  and  do  ye  too  acccept  the  terms  V 

"  In  the  name  of  the  One  God,  and  of  Christ  the  Saviour,  no  !"  solemnly 
pronounced  the  Grand  Master  of  St.  John's,  stepping  forward  and  bending 
one  knee,  while  he  raised  his  hands  and  eyes  to  heaven. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  One  God,  and  of  Christ  the  Saviour,  no  I"  repeated 
the  Knights  of  the  Temple  and  of  St.  John,  kneeling  also. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  One  God,"  commenced  the  Munk-Knight,  to  the  in- 
finite astonishment  of  his  brethren  in  captivity. 

"  Stay,  holy  warrior  I"  exclaimed  Saladin.  "  That  vow  is  vain  in  thee, 
and  can  but  offer  slight  unto  the  Moslem  Mosque — unto  the  religion  of  the 
true  believer.  Christian  Knights,  let  me  do  jnstice  to  him  to  whom  I  have 
temporarily  rendered  wrong  for  right — evil  for  good.  Know  that  it  was  at 
my  command  the  rumor  ran  throughout  your  ranks,  that  this  holy  and  most 
valiant  Monk  had  abjured  his  Christian  vows,  and  espoused  the  koran,  and  for 
this  reason  it  was,  that  I  wished  to  place  the  strong  example  of  so  ^ood  a 
man  before  you.  I  had  hoped  the  report  of  his  apostacy  would  have  influ- 
enced yourselves.  But  I  judged  you  wrong.  You  have  mocked  my  deep 
deceit.  Knights  of  both  Orders,  and  of  the  Temple  in  particular,  cordially  I 
detest  you  ;  but  though  the  man  may  dislike,  the  warrior  admires  :  therefore 
one  more  chance  I  give.  If  there  be  any  among  your  cruel  and  remorseless 

ranks  who  have  rendered  service — evinced  the  commonest  humanity  of  our 
nature  to  a  Saracen — let  them  stand  forth,  give  such  proof  of  the  act  as  may 
convince,  and  not  only  shall  they  not  be  called  upon  to  renounce  their  creed, 
but  they  shall  go  scatheless  from  my  just  vengeance." 

The  whole  of  the  knights  wefre  silent,  yet^^ooked  more  haughtily  than 
before.  There  was  only  one  amid  that  assemblage  of  Christians  who  had 
ever  stayed  his  hand  of  blood,  or  who  could  adduce  the  slighest  proof  of 
service  or  pity  to  their  foes. 

"Ha!  by  the  Prophet,  is  it  so  then  V  exclaimed  Saladin,  his  eye  flashing 
fire,  and  his  hand  dropping  to  his  scimeter.  "  Is  all  that  I  have  heard  le- 
ported  so  true  ?  Not  mercy  even  to  woman  or  child,  and  yet  you  call  your- 
selves disciples  of  One  whose  chief  attributes  you  promulgate  as  those  of 
forbearance  and  mercy !  Then,  throwing  his  keen  glance  upon  Abdailah, 
who  stood  with  his  arms  folded,  and  a  prey  to  deep  emotion,  which,  however, 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT   OF    ST.    JOHN. 


91 


his  placid  brow  denied — "  ArttI  you,  Sir  Monk,"  hare  you  no  proof  to  offer, 
wherefore  a  kindred  death  should  not  be  yours  1  Methinks  that  noble  mien 
might  summon  from  our  camp,  those  who  would  gladly  bear  witness  to  your 
forbearance,  if  such  you  have  extended." 

The  Knight-Monk  slightly  bowed  his  head,  but  continued  silent. 

•'What!"  continued  Saladin  angrily  ;  "dost  mean,  most  proud  and  stub- 
born Monk,  to  mock  our  kindness  ?  Speak  ;  what  service  have  you  done  of 
mercy,  that  it  may  redeem  your  forfeit  life?" 

"  If]  am  silent,"  said  Abdallah,  calmly,  "  it  is  because  I  can  adduce  no 
proof:  my  simple  saying  would  avail  not.  But  yesterday,  1  claimed  for  the 
slain  companion  of  my  warrior  toils,  the  rites  of  Christian  sepulchre,  for 
having  saved  the  wife  of  Saladin  from  outrage.  Was  this  granted?  Was  1 
believed,  proud  Sultan  ?  What,  then,  the  greater  hope,  that  if  my  word  was 
heeded  not  yesterday  in  the  battle-field,  it  will  now  find  credit  in  the  man 
who  is  a  seeming  candidate  for  life  before  you?" 

•'  It  will — it  shall,"  observed  Saladin,  in  answer  to  the  latter  part  of  his 
observation.  "  There  is  that  about  you,  noble  Monk,  which  tells  your 
lips  you  never  lie.     Speak,  then,  the  service  you  have  rendered." 

"  Great  Saladin  !  I  am  your  debtor  for  the  high  esteem  in  which  you 
hold  me,"  replied  Abdallah,  in  the  same  calm  tone,  while  his  usually  placid 
brow  was  tinged  with  a  shade  of  melancholy.  Had  this  been  but  yesterday, 
I  should  have  l)etter  prized  the  boon  you  offer  :  to-day  I  heed  it  not ;  I  am 
prepared  to  die  with  these,  my  gallant  comrades,  with  whom — all  praise 
to  God — I  stand  acquitted  of  the  foul  charge  they  wronged  me  greatly  in 
believing." 

'*  Noble  Abdallah,  forgive  me — forgive  us  all,"  continued  the  Grand- 
Master  of  St.  John;  "  forgive  me  for  the  thought  that  one,  so  late  the  proud 
example  of  us  all,  should  have  sold  his  honor  for  his  life." 

"  I  do  forgive  you — I  forgive  you  all.  Forgiveness  we  shall  soon  require 
in  heaven.  The  greatest  boon  the  noble  Saladin  can  yield,  is  that  already 
given — the  repairing  of  his  deep  injustice — T  aak  no  more." 

"  No  words  can  repeat  our  sorrow,"  said  one  of  the  group  of  knights  who 
now  surrounded  and  pressed  his  ungloved  palms  in  theirs  ;  "  we  have  done  you 
wreng — but  heart  and  soul,  while  on  the  point  of  passing  into  eternity,  we 
abjure  that  wrong." 

"  Amen  !"  solemnly  rejoined  the  Grand  Master. 

*'  Ha  !"  said  the  Monk,  struggling  to  subdue  his  emotion.  "  This,  in- 
deed, repays  me  with  usury  for  wrong." 

In  the  meantime,  Saladin  having  given  some  directions  to  a  principal 
officer,  he  left  the  spacious  tent,  and  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  minutes,  re- 
appeared, conducting  in  a  woman  clad  in  long  white  garments,  so  loosely 
made  as  to  conceal  all  the  symmetry  of  her  person.  A  hood  thrown  over  her 
head,  hid  every  particle  of  her  hair,  and  otherwise  set  recognition  at 
defiance. 

"  Woman!"  said  the  Sultan  to  her,  roughly,  "  what  would  you  have?" 

"  I  would  save  the  life  of  one  who  saved  mine,"  was  answered  in  a 
trembling  voice  that  sent  the  blood  thrilling  through  every  vein  of  the 
outwardly-unmoved  Monk.   "  I  understand  that  your  Highness  had  promised 


92 


THE   MONK    KNIGHT   OF    ST.    JOHN. 


mercy  to  him  who  had  extended,  mercy  to  a  Saracen — 1  came  to  see  if  the 
preserver  of  my  honor  was  here,  and  if  so,  to  save  him." 

"  Such  is  our  design,"  replied  the  Sultan  ;  "  look  round,  woman,  and 
see  if,  among  these  knights,  you  can  recognize  liim  of  whom  you  speak." 

The  female  turned  slowly  round,  and  after  leisurely  passing  her  glance 
over  the  group  of  knights,  suffered  her  eyes  to  rest  upon  Abdallah,  who 
stood  at  that  edge  of  the  semicircle  which  adjoined  the  opening. 

"  Who  could  mistake  that  majestic  form,  that  noble  mien — that  divine  face 
and  brow,"  exclaimed  the  woman,  almost  passionately,  yet  in  a  trembling 
voice,  as  she  pointed  towards  him.  "  That,  your  Highness,  is  my  deliverer. 
He,  it  was,  who,  when  a  band  of  Christian  ruffians  had  torn  me  from  my 
humble  home, and  were  about  to  do  me  violence  in  a  spot  remote  from  aid, 
suddenly,  with  his  single  arm,  and  when  hope  seemed  lost,  smote  off 
the  head  of  six  fierce  ruffians,  in  less  time,  your  Highness,  than  I  take  to 
tell  you  of  the  deed." 

"  Well  can  I  believe  it,  woman.  The  scimeter  that  clove  but  yesterday, 
clear  from  the  neck  to  the  groin,  and  through  the  saddle  of  the  strong  armed 
son  of  Baghorian,  and  in  the  next  minute  divided  the  body  of  Al  Aphdal, 
causing  one  half  to  roll  upon  the  ground,  and  the  other  to  be  carried  off  by 
his  frightened  steed,  seated  in  his  saddle  as  he  had  mounted  him,  would  make 
but  child's  play  the  cutting  of  half-a-dozen  throats." 

All  the  knights  listened  with  surprise  and  admiration,  for,  althougli  they 
had  often  witnessed  the  prowess  of  Abdallah's  arm,  they  had  never  kn  wn 
of  a  feat  like  this. 

'*  And  was  this  done,  great  Saladin?"  ventured  the  Grand  Master. 

"  I  saw  it  with  my  own  eyes,  and  felt  myself  outdone,"  returned  the 
Sultan,  "  for  never  had  I  thought  that  human  strength  could  achieve  it. 
Sir  Monk,  if  you  have  studied  holiness,  as  you  have  the  scimeter,  none  can 
be  found  in  Christendom  more  saintly  than  yourself.  But  how  is  this?  The 
woman  states  it  was  you  who  rendered  service  to  her — a  service  which 
you  see  has  impressed  her  with  deep  gratitude,  put  forth  in  language  that 
attests  it,  while  you  attribute  it  to  the  Order  and  exertions  of  your  friend 
who  fell  in  battle  yesterday  !  Which,  then,  are  we  to  believe? — the  grati- 
tude which  never  lightly  speaks,  or  the  generosity  of  soul  which  would  in- 
vest the  memory  of  your  friend  with  honor,  regardless  wholly  of  yourself. 
Which,  then,  I  say,  are  we  to  believe  ?" 

"  I  know  not  the  woman,"  replied  Abdallah,  almost  hoarsely,  as  he  cast  a 
look  of  severe  displeasure  on  her  ;  "  I  never  did  her  service." 

*'  Believe  it  not,  your  Highness.  His  noble  heart  disdains  the  gallant 
deed,  that  he  may  obtain  attention  to  his  friend,  to  whom  he  wrongly  imputes 
the  act.  Well  do  I  know  him.  It  was  only  after  the  men  he  slew,  lay 
bleeding  on  the  earth,  his  brother  knight  appeared.  He,  too,  had  acted 
nobly,  if  he  could,  but  lime  was  not  allowed  him." 

"  It  is  wrong,  great  Saladin" — this  woman  raves — "  they  mistake  me 
for  some  other,"  returned  the  Monk-Knight.  "  I  have  no  claim,  whatever, 
on  your  favor  and  prefer  none." 

"  Nay,  by  the  holy  Mahomet !  I  swear  that  it  was  he  alone  who  delivered 
me  from  the  peril,"  energetically  continued  the  woman.    "  He  wore  no  visor 


\'--m^ 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


93 


to  his  helmet,  but  his  features  were  exposed  even  as  now,  and  who,  as  I  have 
Just  said,  could  fail  to  know  them  ever  after?  I'll  swear  upon  the  koran,  it 
was  he." 

"  Enough,"  said  the  Sultan.  "  He  is  saved.  By  to-morrow'a  dawn.  Sir 
Monk,  we  move  from  hence  to  the  walls  of  .Jerusalem,  which  a  holy  inspira- 
tion tells  me,  shall  be  again  our  own.  As  far  as  the  Christian  gates  we  will 
conduct  you.     liCt  this  goblet  be  the  pledge." 

A  page  handed  him  a  goblet  of  sherbet,  of  which  he  drank,  and  then  caused 
it  to  be  taken  to  Abdallah,  who  reluctantly  partook  of  it. 

In  obedience  to  a  signal  of  the  Sultan,  the  female  turned  to  withdraw, 
after  humbly  making  her  obeisance.  As  she  passed  close  to  the  Monk,  she 
fighed  ;  and  although  her  eyes  were  not  visible  through  the  thick  veil  she 
wore,  it  was  evident  her  attention  was  directed  to  him.  Abdallah 's  emotion 
was  unusually  great,  and  when  she  had  come  opposite  to  him,  he  said  in  a 
low  tone,  while  his  eyes  were  turned  another  way  : 

"  Guilty  wife  of  Saladin — beautiful  enchantress,  avaunt ! 

For  a  moment  she  stood  transfixed  to  the  spot,  but  suddenly  recovering 
herself,  clasped  her  hands  across  her  heart,  bowed  her  head  over  her  bosom, 
and  passed  slowly  out  of  the  tent. 

"  And  now,  all  that  remains,  is  to  decide  upon  your  fate,"  said  Saladin. 
"  Men  of  hardened  hearts,  whose  trade  is  blood,  your  doom  is  sealed. 
Oft  have  I  sworn  that  when  emmeshed  within  my  toils,  your  heads  should 
answer  the  grave  offences  laid  to  you,  and  yet,  more  merciful  than  your- 
selves, I  give  assurance  of  freedom,  if  but  one  single  act  of  forbearance  can 
be  recorded  in  your  favor." 

"Proud  Saladin,  we  defy  your  power!"  returned  the  Grand  Master, 
firmly.  Act  your  vengeance  as  you  may,  you  cannot  wring  a  pang  from 
Christian  knights  and  Christian  warriors.  It  were  more  to  your  glory,  and 
nobler  far,  methinks,  to  spare  these  taunts,  and  straight  pronounce  the  order 
for  our  doom.     We'll  teach  your  Moslems  how  a  Christian  dies." 

"Then  shall  the  lesson  soor  be  taught,"  returned  the  Sarac;.i  chief. 
"  What,  ho  !  Let  all  the  force  to  arms  be  instant  summoned,  and  a  space 
beyond  the  camp  selected  where  all  may  see  the  act  of  justice  done." 

The  chief  officer  retired,  and  soon  the  sound  of  many  trumpets  rent  the 
air  ;  and  the  tread  of  armed  men  met  the  ear,  in  the  short  intervals  of 
their  clang. 

"  Sir  Monk,"  said  Saladin,  rising  from  his  throne,  "  retire  to  your  tent,  I 
would  not  have  you  to  behold  that  which  must  give  pain  to  your  noble  heart. 
Retire,  you  have  looked  your  last  upon  these  cruel  men." 

"  Then,  since  the  boon  of  death  be  denied  me," — he  paused,  for  again  the 
image  of  the  Lady  Ernestina  rose  before  him,  in  all  her  glorious  beauty,  and 
seemed  to  reproach  him  for  his  willingness  to  die — "  since  you  have  granted 
me  life,"  he  continued,  "  let  me  ask  another  gracc->-permis8ion  to  take  a 
last  farewell  of  these  my  tried  comrades  in  arms." 

"  Be  it  80,"  replied  Saladin  ;"  but  be  brief."  >  '  ." 

First  he  affectionately  embraced  the  Grand  Master,  who  again  expressed 
his  deep  sorrow  that  he  should  have  done  him  the  injustice  to  believe  that  he 
had  forsaken  the  religion  of  Christ  for  that  of  Mahomet,  and  then  addressing 


h 


i 


f^ 


1 1 


94 


THE    MONK    KNIOHT    OF   ST.    JOHN. 


If 


the  rest  of  his  companions,  of  whom,  from  their  numbers,  he  could  not  take 
leave  in  a  similar  manner,  he  pointed  out  the  slo''y  <'f  ''if''"  martyrdom,  not 
only  in  this  world,  but  in  the  next,  and  finished  by  sayinp.  that  he  would 
make  known  in  the  Christian  camp  the  noble  manner  in  which  they  had  met 
their  fate. 

A  flourish  of  atabals  and  trumpets  was  heard  without.  An  oflicer  with  a 
strong  guard  entered,  leaving  others  lin'ng  the  approach.  Saladin  gave  the 
signal,  and  preceded  by  the  Grand  Master,  who  walked  with  proud  step  and 
undaunted  mien,  two  hundred  and  fifty  Knights  Templar,  and  nearly  the 
same  number  of  the  Knights  of  St.  John,  looking  more  haughty  even  than 
their  chief,  moved  forth  to  the  intended  scene  of  their  execution. 

"  God  have  mercy  on  their  souls,"  fervently  aspirated  the  Monk-Knight, 
when  the  last  had  passed  the  tent.  "  I  would  not  willingly  behold  their 
death,  even  if  the  safety  of  the  Holy  City  depended  on  my  compliance.  The 
eight  would  for  ever  unnerve  and  make  me  a  terror  to  myself  " 

And  heavier  in  spirit  than  he  had  been  since  his  entrance  into  Palestine, 
he  moved  shudderingly  to  his  tent,  where  he  threw  himself,  almost  in  des- 
pair, upon  his  couch,  and  listening,  despite  of  himself,  to  hear  the  sounds  of 
massacre  of  his  friends.  But  there  was  no  evidence  to  mark  the  precise 
moment  when  these  brave  knights  fell  victims  to  this  black  and  ineflfaceable 
stain  upon  the  character  of  their  conqueror.  The  scimeter  silently  performed 
its  horrid  task  of  blood.     Abdallah  heard  it  not. 


i 


) ..' , 


Ki 


•    ..-IV 


I "  '•  ^  ^f 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

Deep  anguish  was  in  the  soul  of  the  Monk-Knight,  as  he  half  reclined 
upon  his  luxurious  couch,  for  guilt— stern  consciousness  of  guilt— was  upon 
his  troubled  spirit.  The  calm  of  his  nature  had  almost  deserted  him.  For 
the  first  time  his  noble  brow  was  overcast,  and  his  cheek  flusheJ  with 
shame.     What  events  had  the  las*,  twenty-four  hours  produced  ?     His  friend 

slain — a  battle  decisive  of  the  fate  of  the  Holy  City  fought  and  lost nearly 

the  whole  of  the  two  knightly  Orders  destroyed— and  himself,  not  only  lost 
to  virtue,  but  with  the  crime  of  inconstancy  to  Ernestina  already  on  his  soul. 
This  was  indeed  enough  to  weigh  down  and  oppress  his  heart,  and  to  infit 
him  for  communion  even  with  himself.  It  was  in  vain  that  he  recalled  all 
the  irresistible  fascinations  of  the  bewitching  Saracen,  and  recalled  also  liis 
peculiar  and  almost  frenzied  state  of  mind  at  the  moment  when  her  beauty, 
unveiled  in  all  its  glory,  first  burst  upon  his  maddened  senses.  For  a 
moment  this  specious  sophistry  almost  soothed  his  remorseful  soul  into 
silence;  but  his  was  too  high  and  brave  a  nature  to  long  accept  contentedly 
such  faltering  compromises  with  conscience,  such  pitiful  excuses  for  crime. 
No,  greatly  as  he  had  sinned,  yet  he  derived  a  kind  of  sullen  satisfaction 
from  confessing  to  himself  the  full  enormity  of  his  offence,  and  even  ex- 
aggerating its  guilty  details.  In  this  contradictory  and  almost  savage 
frame  of  mind  he  received  the  command  of  Saladin  to  repair  instantly 
to  his  tent.     Heart-sick  and  hopeless  of  future  peace,  and  feeling  that 


THK    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


95 


the  Lady  ErncsliiiFi  was  lost  to  him  forever — that  he  had  committed  crime, 
not  only  towards  her,  hut  towards  God,  which  nothing  could  atone  for — he 
hailed  with  salibf'action  an  order,  which  he  fully  expected  was  to  lead  to 
death.  But  the  resentment  he  had  felt  at  the  manner  of  his  comrades,  who 
had  charged  him  with  apostacy,  and  even  believed  him  guilty  of  that  crime, 
was  so  great,  that  it  created  a  re-action  in  his  mind  ;  and  when  he  found  that 
Saladin  was  not  only  sincere  in  his  offer  of  life,  but  determined  he  should 
accept  it,  he  resolved  to  avail  himself  of  a  gift  which  would  afford  him  time 
to  expiate  his  great  sin  in  penitence  and  self  sacrifice.  Then  came  another 
re-action.  In  the  woman  who  entered  to  give  testimony  as  to  the  service  he 
had  rendered  to  her.  he  had  recognized  Zuleima.  A  feeling  of  bitterness 
came  over  his  soul,  for  he  could  not  but  attribute  to  her,  not  only  the  crime 
he  had  committed,  but  his  infidelity  to  the  Lady  Ernestina,  and  in  proportion 
as  she  became  warm  in  her  acknowledgment,  so  did  he  feel  his  heart  es- 
tranged from  her  as  the  destroyer  of  his  happiness.  Hence  his  rude  denial 
of  all  that  she  had  advanced  to  save  his  life.  In  short,  the  heart  of  Abdallah 
was  a  prey  to  every  sort  of  contradictory  feeling,  each  based  upon  his  own 
weakness.  The  excitement  of  the  scene  he  had  passed  through,  had,  to  a 
certain  extent,  sustained  him  while  in  the  tent  of  Saladin,  but  now  that  he 
was  in  his  own,  and  alone  in  that  vast  camp,  his  spirits  were  depressed  even 
unto  sadness. 

That  Zuleima  really  loved  iiim  he  could  not  doubt.  From  the  few  words 
she  had  addressed  to  him  on  giving  the  ring,  he  had  gathered  the  leading  points 
of  the  beautiful  and  enamored  woman's  history.  From  what  he  had  heard 
he  believed  that  she  liad  been  carried  off  into  the  interior,  unless,  indeed, 
Saladin  had  espoused  her  in  her  own  native  land,  and  during  his  earlier  ad- 
venturous course  of  war.  He  was  most  anxious  to  obtain  further  information 
from  her  of  her  previous  history,  but  how  to  accomplish  this  he  did  not  know. 
In  two  days,  at  the  furthest,  he  would  have  left  the  camp  of  Saladin  for  ever, 
therefore  it  was  not  likely  that  he  should  again  have  an  opportunity  of  see- 
ing her  who  had  shared  his  guilty  love.  But  as  he  reflected,  he  became 
more  composed  in  mind,  for  he  argued  pleasantly  to  himself,  that  though  a 
fearful  crime  had  been  theirs  in  fact,  it  was  not  so  in  intention,  since  neither 
could  resist  the  spell  that  bound  'them.  The  poisoned  arrow  of  remorse 
was,  therefore,  in  a  great  measure,  robbed  of  the  keenness  of  its  venom, 
while,  unknown  to  all  the  world  besides,  the  recollection  of  the  strange 
circumstances  under  which  they  had  first  met,  and  last  parted,  would  in  dis- 
tance serve  to  unite  them  in  the  tenderest  bonds  of  fraternal  and  sisterly  love. 
Consoled  by  this  reflection,  the  thoughts  of  Abdallah  wandered  less  restrict- 
edly  to  the  Lady  Ernestina,  to  whom  he  meant  to  avow  his  guilt,  and  in  her 
arms  crave  forgiveness  for  the  indulgence  of  an  infidelity  his  very  love  for 
herself  had  caused.  Abdallah  had,  since  his  iail,  become  a  special  pleader  in 
his  own  cause,  and  divided  as  he  was  between  remorse  for  what  he  had  done, 
and  that  which  perdition  itself  would  not  now  prevent  him  from  doing,  he 
sought  to  impart  that  ease  to  his  ruflled  conscience,  without  which  his 
future  conduct  must  be,  to  a  certain  extent,  embittered.  Such  was  the 
peculiarity  of  his  feeling,  that  he  would  have  deemed  it  an  insult  to  the  Lady 
Ernestina — an  outrage  oflTered  to  her  confidence,  and  a  dishonor  to  his  own 


ff.. 


/ 


96 


THE    MONK    KNrOHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


high  sense  of  integrity  and  truth,  were  he  not  frankly  to  avow  his  fault,  and 
plead  in  extenuation,  the  strong  temptation  which  he  had  been  more  tiian 
human  lo  have  withstood. 

The  day  was  long  and  dreary,  and  with  these  alternate  hopes  and  fears,  and 
lamentations  for  the  past,  and  glowing  visions  of  the  future,  the  bewildered 
Moiik-Knigiit  passtvl  the  intervening  time  till  eve.  Great  was  his  delight 
and  surprise  when,  towards  evening,  Rudolpii,  whom  he  had  not  seen  since 
their  capture,  appeared  at  the  entrance  of  his  tent.  He  bore  under  his  rich 
cloak  a  small  basket  of  the  richest  fruits  of  Palestine,  a  golden  goblet  elabo- 
rately carved,  and  a  couple  of  bottles  of  sherbet,  which  he  placed  upon  the 
table. 

"  What  means  this,  boy  V  asked  the  Monk-Knight,  blandly,  after  having 
ti'iiderly  embraced  him.  "  Already  do  I  inhabit  a  princely  tent,  and  princely 
has  been  the  food  allotted  to  me.  Is  it  to  mock  me,  that  Saladiii  sends  these 
superfluities,  so  ill-conditioned  to  my  captive  state'" 

"  Not  Saladin,  but  Saladin's  best  beloved  wife,  has  sent  these  poor  proofs 
of  her  unfading  gratitude  lo  him  whom,  even  as  a  brother,  with  all  a  sister's 
fondness,  she  treasures  in  her  heart.  These  were  the  very  words  she  bade  me 
use,  Sir  Monk." 

"  Not  Saladin,  but  Saladin's  wife!"  repeated  the  Monk.  "  What  means 
that  Moslem  dress '" 

"  It  means,"  said  the  blushing  boy,  '•  that  I  am  page  to  the  Lady  Zuleima, 
that  was  once  a  prisoner  in  my  dear  lord's  tent.  Last  night  she  queried  as 
to  your  health  and  whereabouts.  I  could  not  tell  her  where.  Sir  Knight ; 
whereat  she  was  very  sad,  but  she  discovered  all  from  Fatima,  her  faithful 
slave.  This  fruit  and  wine,  she,  fearful  that  those  whose  ofllce  it  is  to 
serve,  may  not  have  borne,  prays  you  to  accept,  in  dear  remembrance  of  the 
past." 

"  In  dear  remembrance  of  the  past,"  again  repeated  the  Monk-Knight, 
while  the  usual  placidity  of  his  brow  was  deeply  disturbed. 

"  Such  were  her  words.  Sir  Monk,"  replied  the  page.  ''  No  doubt  her 
meaning  bore  upon  that  time,  when  rescued  by  your  arm,  she  poured  forth 
her  soul  in  generous  thankfulness  in  my  dear — dear  lords  tent,''  and  the 
tears  started  to  his  eyes. 

Abdallah  looked  at  him  silently  for  a  few  moments  ;  at  length  he  asked 
tenderly,  "  Any  tidings  of  your  noble  master,  Rudolph  1" 

"  Alas,  none!"  anl  "^-'s  pent-up  grief  broke  forth  in  a  paroxysm  of  tears. 

'•  Nay,  nay,  dear  Rudolph,"  said  the  Monk-Knight  soothingly,  "  regret  is 
vain.  It  is  the  fate  we  all  expected.  It  had  been  nearly  yours.  Your  lord  died 
the  death  of  the  glorious — on  the  battle-field.  Let  that  recollection  console 
you.  But  tell  me,"  and  he  looked  at  the  youth  as  if  dreading  his  answer, 
"  has  the  scimetcr  performed  its  task  of  blood  ?  Are  they  all  destroyed — 
not  one  escaped?" 

"  A// are  destroyed,  Sir  Monk  ;  the  cruel  order  of  Saladin  was  but  too 
lii...,.iilly  obeyed.  Not  an  hour  elapsed  between  their  doom  and  execution. 
Not  une  escaped  V 

"  liod  have  mercy  on  their  souls  I"  exclaimed  the  Monk-Knight  fervently, 
and  he  rose  from  the  couch  and  huniodly  paced  his  tent.     "  Too  (^nwl 


!  '  ■" ,?' 


L   m 


THE   MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


vr 


tea,TA. 


|ut  too 
Bution. 

gently, 
criiel 


Saladin — I  had  hoped  that  some  little  mercy  would  have  entered  into  your 
heart  at  last,  and  that  it  was  chiefly  to  put  their  courage  to  the  test  that  you 
had  caused  the  scimctor  to  be  upliAed  over  the  devoted  heads  of  those  brave 
and  noble  knights.  Ah  !  fearfully  have  you  marred  the  splendor  of  your 
victory.  A  life  of  brilliant  deeds  cannot  remove  the  alaiu  which  you  have 
cast  upon  your  own  escutcheon.  Am  I  myself  ungratefull"  he  mused  to 
himself,  after  a  short  pause  ;  "  no,  wicked  and  proud  Sultan,  I  owe  you 
iidtliinp — 1  saved  her  to  your  arms  for  whom  the  love  of  your  heart  wt.- 
<,'reate8t,  and  the  granting  of  life  to  me  was  but  the  payment  of  a  righteous 
'Itht — mercy  fur  meroy.  Ought  I  to  feel  regret  or  remorse  then  for  the 
»HTurrence  of  last  night!  No  ;  it  was  a  sweet  revenge,  an  anticipated  pun- 
ishment for  the  cruel  slaughter  of  the  chosen — the  most  faithful  servants  of 
God.  J'or  the  adultery  with  your  wife  J  mourn  not — I  rather  rejoice  in  it.  It 
is  ray  infidelity  only  that  harrows  up  my  soul.  Yes — sinful,  most  sinful,  to 
admire  the  charms  of  an  unblessed  heretic  and  unbeliever  ;  to  be  filled  with 
an  impure  desire  fur  the  possession  of  her  beauty ;  and  far  more  criminal 
still,  to  have  known  it  with  all  the  wildness  of  reciprocated  passion  :  and 
yet  again,  can  that  be  crime  which  is  committed  while  the  senses  are  under 
the  control  of  a  delirium.  Evil  exists  only  in  intention.  That  which  we  do 
not  consider  to  be  guilt  is  not  guilt.  In  like  manner,  although  I  have  held 
this  Pagan  in  my  arms,  it  was  merely  in  madness — in  an  uncontrollable  frenzy 
that  led  my  very  soul  astray.  Therefore  am  I  free  of  the  crime — therefore 
cannot  my  conscience  reproach  me.  Therefore  have  we  enjoyed  all  the 
sweets  of  the  crime  without  the  bitter  penalty  which  remorse  of  conscience 
imposes.  True,  the  sin  of  wilful  adultery  we  cannot  deny  ;  but  this  I  do  not 
repent  of,  except  as  connected  with  the  greater  crime,  inasmuch  as  in  yield- 
ing to  it,  I  yielded  to  an  impulse  not  to  be  overcome  by  any  power  of  the  will, 
and  because  it  was  a  just  but  imperfect  punishment  for  the  cruelty  of  Sala- 
din." Thus,  as  it  has  been  before  remarked,  had  Abdallah,  enlightened  by 
the  emancipation  from  his  vows  of  chastity,  become  his  own  special  pleader, 
not  only  acquitting  himself  of  the  greater  crime,  but  palliating  the  lesser. 

The  boy,  seeing  him  absorbed  in  thought,  would  not  venture  to  interrupt 
his  reverie,  but  waited  patiently  until  he  should  address  him. 

The  Monk-Knight  at  length  discontinued  his  walk,  and  seated  himself  on 
.he  couch  at  his  side.  He  looked  benevolently  at  him  for  some  minutes,  and 
then  taking  his  hand,  said  : 

"  Rudolph !  our  gallant  band  destroyed,  henceforward  I  have  nought  to 
keep  me  here  in  Palestine  ;  and  you,  without  your  noble  lord,  must  pine,  to 
see  once  more  the  verdant  fields  of  rich  Auvergne.  My  life,  you  know,  is 
spared,  and  instantly  shall  I  quit  a  cause  which  now  is  hopeless.  I  go  to 
render  to  the  Lady  Ernestina  that  holy  consolation  for  her  husband's  fate 
which  it  was  his  great  desire  I  should.  Rudolph,  dear  boy,  your  noble 
master  charged  me  that  you  should  be  our  mutual  care,  and,  ere  to-morrow's 
sun  shall  set,  I'll  crave  your  freedom  at  the  hands  of  Saladin." 

"  Ah  !  Sir  Monk,  ask  me  not,"  exclaimed  the  boy,  with  deep  emotion, 
falling  on  his  knees.  I  cannot — will  not  quit  my  mistress'  service.  I  pray 
you  promise,  holy  Monk,  that  you  will  not  require  this  boon  of  Saladin  : 
never  can  I  return  to  France." 


■Vi'  '■' 


-•m:.:.^X 


98 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


.1     It'' 

n 


"What  moans  this.  Rudolph  i"  aaked  the  Monk,  with  some  surprise, 
and  yet  benignantly  ;  "not  return  to  Franco — not  return  to  the  wife  of  your 
kind  lord — him  whom  you  lovwl  so  well.  1  see  it,  boy,"  he  added  after 
a  paiitte,  and  looking  atfectionately  in  his  face  ;  "  you  love  the  wife  of 
Saladin." 

"  1  do — I  do,'"  said  the  page  vehemently,  the  color  mounting  to  his  cheek, 
and  overspreading  his  brow ;  "  I  love  her  beyond  all  expression — all 
thoutfht — I  cannot  leave  her:  she  is  my  heaven — tho  divinity  of  my  worship." 

A  pang  passed  over  the  heart  of  Abdallah  :  it  was  but  for  a  moment  ;  a 
nobler  impulse  succeeded.  He  caught  the  boy  to  his  heart.  He  loved  him 
far  better  than  before — he  loved  him  because  he  loved  Zuleima. 

"  And  does  she  love  you  in  return  '"  he  asked  in  a  voice  that  trembled 
from  the  emotion  of  his  heart — "  tell  me,  Rudolph,  frankly ;  it  concerns 
yuur  future  peace  that  I  should  know." 

"  Oh  !"  replied  the  boy,  coloring,  "  I  may  not  tell  of  that,  even  if  it  were 
so ;  besides,  you  know,  Sir  Monk,  it  is  not  because  I  love  her,  that  it  should 
be  supposed  the  Lady  Zuleima  loves  m^— I  wish  she  would  ;"  and  he  looked 
stealthily  into  the  Monk's  eyes  to  see  if  he  believed  him. 

Abdallah  slowly  and  significantly  shook  his  head.  "  We  will  talk  no  more 
of  this,"  he  gravely  answered  :  "  but  set  your  mind  at  ease  ;  I  would  not, 
Rudolph,  mar  your  dream  of  happiness,  and  therefore,  will  I  not  ask  Saladin 
to  give  you  freedom  to  depart.  Yet,  ponder  well  the  matter,  and  then 
decide." 

"  Nothing  on  earth  can  change  my  resolution,"  returned  the  boy,  eagerly. 
"  The  answer  I  now  render,  I  shall  always  give." 

"Oh!  de  Boisoourt— dear  de  Boiscourt,  friend  of  my  soul,  how  deeply  do 
I  feel  your  loss !"  said  the  Monk-Knight  with  an  air  of  abstraction,  his 
thoughts  recurring  to  the  melancholy  fate  of  his  friend.  "  Were  it  not  for 
the  dear  legacy  you  have  left  me,  how  blank,  despairing  would  be  the  fu- 
ture ?  Then  would  I  not  have  spurned  my  vows,  but  henceforth  hid  me  in 
the  cloister's  gloom.  I  had  not  thought  Saladin  so  cruel  as  to  deny  the 
Christian  rites  of  burial  to  him  who  had  lent  his  willing  aid  to  save  my 
"  he  checked  the  word  that  was  even  then  upon  his  lips. 

"  Nay,  Sir  Monk,"  replied  the  boy  to  his  soliloquy,  "  you  do  the  Monarch 
wrong.  Search  was  made  for  his  body,  but  it  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 
The  report  was  made  to  Saladin  late  last  eve,  and  he  directed  me  to  accom- 
pany a  party  by  torch-light  to  identify  the  knight.  At  midnight  we  set  out, 
and  not  until  the  day  had  dawned  did  we  return  from  our  long  and  fruitlees 
seeking." 

"  Then  you  know  nothing  of  him  1" 

"  Nothing,  Sir  Monk-Knight.  Jackalls  had  evidently  been  prowling  around, 
for  the  dead  carcass  of  a  horse,  stripped  of  his  trappings  of  war,  told  of  their 
orgies  ;  but  the  bodies  of  the  combatants  had  been  removed.  Few  had  fallen 
there,  and  those  chiefly  Saracens.  Whether  in  the  darkness  of  the  night 
my  poor  lord  had  been  mistaken  for  an  infidel,  and  carried  off  as  such,  I  can- 
not tell — but  alas,  he  was  gone  for  ever!" — and  again  Rudolph  burst  into 
tears.  .  '      ..,-:.  ,        ,  • 


THK    MONK     KNI'tlir    W    ST.    JOHN. 


*>9 


"  Pour,  ill-luted  dt:  IJoitscoun,"  oighed  the  Monk,  "  this  iiiuttt  not  lie  told 
to  the  bilnvrd  one." 

"  The  Ix'loveii  out;.'"  remarked  the  boy,  expresaivoly  :  "  do  you  mean  the 
Lady  lOruestiiui,  Sir  Monk  '" 

"1  mean  the  Liuly  Ernesiina,"  replied  Abdallah.  calmly.  "  Jloar  me, 
Hiidolpli'""  and  lir  iifleetionalely  pressed  his  hand — •  you  have  intellect  far 
beyond  your  years.  You  have  had  the  wisdom  of  manhood  from  earliest 
boyhood,  while  I  have  lived  to  full  maturity,  in  utter  ignoiunce  ot  my  own 
nature.  You  are  diserect.  I  may  confide  in  you.  I  have  lost  tlu;  friend  of 
my  heart — the  beloved  of  my  aflecliouB.  You  shall  supply  his  place,  and  the 
world-taiiphl  boy  of  sixteen — tht>  noble,  and  the  gentle,  and  the  beautiful 
boy,  wlio  has  Iteen  nurs*};!  and  eherlKlied  in  the  lap  of  enlightening  'ovc,  shall 
hcnceforlli  be  theiViithful  friend  of  the  newly  emancipated  devotee  to  the  cold 
cloister.  Hear,  tRen,  the  sweet  euntession  which  I  make  to  you,  Uudolph. 
The  veil  that  had  so  loui;  obscured  my  just  |)erccption  of  the  true  value  of 
existence,  has  been  at  l;;<igth  removed.  The  glory  of  woman  I  acknowledge. 
1  feel  that  (Jod  never  created  the  beautiful  but  to  be  worshipped  with  the 
heart's  iniensest  aft'ection.  The  very  mystery  of  their  loveliness  proves  it. 
Had  I  passed  my  youth  in  the  familiarity  of  that  knowledge,  1  should  not  be 
inspired  as  I  am.  Deep  reflection  assures  mc  that  all  things  are  vanity  in 
life,  but  the  earnest,  the  self-sacriticing,  the  undying  love  of  woman.  Even 
as  you  adore  Zuleima,  so  1  adore  the  Lady  Ernestina — with  frenzy.  I  spurn 
the  self-denial  of  the  cowl.  I  go  to  bask  for  ever  in  a  beauty  that  intoxicates 
and  enslaves  me — in  a  word,  I  go  to  woo  her  to  prove  my  surpassing  ado- 
ration of  her  beauty." 

The  boy  looked  all  the  strong  emotion  of  his  soul.  He  knelt  at  the  feet 
of  Abdallah.  He  blessed  him  for  the  change  that  had  come  over  him,  and 
he  finally  wept  tears  of  joy  to  think  that  one  so  noble,  hitherto  so  insensible 
to  the  fascinations  of  woman,  should  have  yielded  himpelf  up  a  slave  to  the 
unseen  beauty  of  her  whom  he  so  deeply  respected  and  loved. 

"  Ah  !  how  happy  I  am,"  he  murmured.  "  What  new  delight  you  have 
infused  into  my  being  ;  but  pardon  the  question,  dear  Sir  Monk.  Whence 
arises  this  strong  passion  for  the  widowed  wife  of  my  noble  lord — you  have 
never  seen  her?" 

"  From  description  alone,''  returned  Abdallah,  in  a  calm  tone  that  belied 
his  feelings.  *'  Rudolph,  our  future  friendship  is  the  seal  of  confidence  and 
secrecy.  What  concerns  your  late  lord  will,  I  know,  remain  locked  in  your 
generous  bosom  for  ever.     Is  it  not  so,  boy  V 

"  Nothing  on  this  side  of  the  grave  will  ever  tempt  me  to  reveal  it,"  de- 
clared the  youth  fervently. 

"  Then,"  said  the  Monk-Knight,  seriously,  "  learn  that  the  passion  which 
rages  in  my  blood  for  the  Lady  Ernestina,  has  been  the  effect  of  the  Baron's 
own  words.  His  delight  was  to  inflame  my  imagination  with  glowing  des- 
criptions of  her  unveiled  beauty.  The  glorious  picture  which  he  drew  of 
her  charming  and  voluptuous  tenderness,  first  placed  woman  in  a  new  light 
before  me.  It  seemed  as  if  a  dark  cloud  had  been  dissipated — a  heavy  mist 
removed  from  before  my  eyes.  I  acknowledged  that  God  had  given  to  his 
sentient  creatures  a  holiness  of  desire,  which  might  be  prostituted,  evea 


i[ 


! 


%t- 


■'',.; 


100 


rui;    MONK    KNIUHT    OK    ST.    JOHN. 


i 


Sib 


w 


i|  !' 


«»  lh«>  huiiiiiii  f'niiiic  Ih  altnrt^l  t'toiii  tlip  divine  and  porfeot  form  givon  to 
Ailiiiii  iiiid  to  \')vi\,  and  the  doba»>d  and  frrovt'lling  mind  to  n  more  passion 
of  the  animiil,  hiit  which  in  itselfis  holinew." 

"  Ail  '■'  said  llic  pag«,  lixciledly,  throwing  himself  upon  the  bosom  of 
the  !*l(mi<-l\iu>;hl,  "  if  thr  Ijady  Krnt'Miina  i-an  l)ut  forgot  her  Iiord,  in  a 
piuwion  as  groat  aa  your  own,  profound  indeed  will  b«  the  mutual  tnumport 
of  your  souls.'" 

"  Duiilii  it  not,  gentle  Rudolph.  The  nohlo-hearted — tho  generous  du 
JHoiHCOiirt  Ifil  not  the  work  undone.  His  letters  in  my  piaise  have  b4)  pro- 
j)arpd  hits  wifi-  Cor  luy  deep  and  glowing  love,  that  her  affection,  half  mine 
-already,  will  lie  wiiolly  so,  after  I  nliall  have  iMirnu  to  her  the  painful  tidings 
of  her  dear  lord's  fat<\" 

Oh,  deepest  joy ''  (exclaimed  the  page.  "  One  great  causa,  butiisyou  know. 
Sir  Monk,  a  Meeoiulary  one,  for  iny  atayiug  from  my  native  land,  when  all 
is  lost,  was  dread  to  sec  the  great  sorrow  of  the  Lady  Krncstinn,  for  him  lior 
heart  adored.  Hut  now  that  the  channel  of  her  desire  is  partly  diverted  from 
its  course,  without  impugnment  to  the  first  love  on  which  she  live<i,  ]  glory 
in  the  thought  that  she  will  be  the  bride  of  him  whom  best  her  absent  lord 
esteemed." 

"  Yet,  understand  me,  dear  boy.  Never  would  the  soul  of  the  matchless 
Emestina  have  glowed  with  passion  for  another,  had  not  her  noble  husband 
so  desired  it.  It  was  his  pride  his  friend  should  know  and  toate  her  loveli- 
ness. He  could  not  bear  the  thought  that  such  vast  treasure  should  be 
lavished  on  himself  alone,  when  its  profusion  of  richness  not  only  promised 
abundance  to  the  friend  of  his  heart,  but  left  him  not  poorer  in  the  offering." 

"  I'neciualled  Baron,"  said  the  page,  again  afl'ected  by  the  recollection  of 
his  lost  lord's  worth.  "  But  few  are  they  who  would  have  the  generosity  of 
heart  to  act  like  this.  Believe  me,  Sir  Momt,  of  this  great  confidence,  in 
one  so  young,  so  honored  in  the  gifV,  I  shall  mtver  prove  unworthy." 

"  Well  I  know  it  is  a  confidence  not  misplaced,"  said  the  Monk-Knight, 
kindly.  "  I  know  your  almost  filial  love  for  the  Ijady  Emestina,  and  I 
wished  to  yield  you  comfort  in  the  knowledge  that  she  was  not  doomed  to 
pine  in  hopeless  widowhood."  ' 

"  Words  cannot  tell,"  said  Rudolph,  passionately,  "  the  joy  you  have 
imparted  to  me.  You  will  not  now.  Sir  Monk,  ask  of  Saladin  to  let  mo 
free.  Bondage  like  mine  no  freedom  could  purchase.  Even  as  your  passion 
is  for  the  Lady  Emestina,  so  is  mine  for  the  wife  of  Saladin." 

"  But,"  remarked  the  Monk,  "smiling,  beautiful  as  she  is,  the  wife  of 
Saladin  is  old  enough  to  be  your  mother." 

"  Ah  !  dear  Sir  Monk,  that  is  one  reason  why  I  8b  deeply  love  her,"  an- 
swered the  boy,  coloring.  "  Besides,  if  it  were  otherwise,  such  beauty,  fai 
from  being  lessened,  must  be  increased  by  years." 

"  Strange,  precocious  boy,"  said  the  Monk-Knight,  regarding  him  at- 
tentively, "  come  nearer  and  let  me  whisper  into  your  ear." 

"  Impossible  !"  exclaimed  the  startled  Rudolph,  when  the  communication 
had  been  made.  "  Forgive  me — forgive  me.  Sir  Monk,  for  my  fault.  Oh, 
how  could  I  ever  have  divined  this  to  be  the  case  V 

"  I  have  ample  proof  of  the       fact,"  returned  Abdallah  ;  "yet  how  ob- 


l    V. 


■  ) 


THK   MONK    KNIOIIT    Of    sT.    JOItN. 


lUl 


taitiixV  dear  Rudolph,  you  must  not  ank  mo — yot  fi'ur  not  my  tliaploaiure. 
Tlio  pa§t  cannot  bfl  recalled  ;  therefore  why  poJHou  the  future  with  a  vain 
regret.  Frankly  toll  roe  then.  I  know  from  your  v  v\u  lipu  iImI  you  love 
7iuIotma.     Itan  -^iix)f  been  given  that  ahe  returns  your  love'" 

"  It  hati,"  said  the  page,  coloring  deeply,  beneath  the  inquirinj^  hslv  of 
the  Monk-Knight, 

"  Finough,  dear  boy  A  deeper  tie  than  friendship  then  ronnecln  us  The 
voluptuoua  mistress  of  Abdallah  feeds  her  fond  lovo  within  the  arms  of  a 
blooming  page,  whom  he  calls  his  friend,  and  who  is  dearer  to  his  heart  by 
reason  of  the  very  love  he  bears  her." 

The  ardent  and  beautiful  boy  threw  himself  upon  the  bosom  of  the  Monk- 
Knight,  and  reclining  his  burning  cheek  upon  his  ample  shoulder,  gave 
utterance  to  the  deep,  the  heartfelt  gratitude  that  filled  his  soul  at  this  gener- 
ous -onduct." 

"  Nay,  Rudolpli,  as  I  said  before,  the  past  cannot  be  recalled  ;  what  has 
been  cannot  be  eflaoed.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  I  rather  rejoice  in,  than 
condemn,  tlie  mutual  passion  you  have  conceived.  Had  it  yet  been  ungrat- 
ified,  I  could  not  have  counselled  it.  But  the  fullest  indulgence  having  been 
given  to  the  strong  feelings  of  your  hearts,  I  not  only  do  not  object,  but  I 
approve.  Rather  would  I  that  she  were  your  mistress  than  Saladin's  wife; 
for  there  is  almost  profanity  in  the  thought  of  her  being  pressed  to  the  heart 
of  the  cruel,  the  inhuman  man,  who  bo  mercilessly  and  so  wantonly  slew 
hundreds  of  the  noblest  warriors  of  the  Cross.  Go,"  ho  resumed,  after  a 
short  pause  ;  "  go  to  the  cherished  sharer  of  your  unlawful  love,  and  without 
making  known  to  her  our  secret,  say  that  much  I  desire  an  interview.  Take 
this  ring  and  place  it  upon  her  finger.  She  will  understand  the  token. 
Let  the  hour  be  the  first  after  midnight.  You  must  keep  watch  and  careful 
guard  against  events.  From  my  own  lips  must  she  know  that  we  part  for- 
ever. One  last  embrace,  dear  Rudolph.  Perchance  this  meeting  is  our 
lart." 


It 


I 


CHAPTER   XX 


AiiL  was  dark  as  on  the  preceding  evening,  when  Zuleima,  understandings 
well  the  meaning  of  the  return  of  the  ring,  through  Rudolph,  gently  put 
aside  the  curtains  of  Abdallah's  tent.  He  stood  near  to  receive  her,  and  then, 
in  silence,  led  her  to  an  ottoman  at  the  opposite  extremity.  She  was  much 
agitated,  and  as  his  arm  encircled  her  as  they  walked,  he  could  feel  the 
heaving  of  her  bosom.  For  some  time  they  did  not  speak  ;  a  consciousness 
of  tho  past,  and  of  the  guilty  but  dear  and  sacred  tie  which  united  them, 
seemed  to  pervade  the  breasts  of  both  ;  but  this,  so  far  from  inspiring  Ab- 
dallah with  coldness  for  Zuleima,  only  filled  him  with  the  strongest 
sentiment  of  a  pure  fraternal  love.  His  feeling  was  so  new,  so  strange^ 
that  it  was  indescribable.     No  mere  passion  influenced  him  now,  and  yet 


^^»-^'    mm  mm 


Wi 


THK    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


,'■>  i: 


the  repollection  of  his  knowledge  of  her  beauty,  only  rendered  her  the  more 
dear  to  him.  That  which  had  been  done,  had  been  done  in  frenzy  and 
Ihcrt'fori^  with  no  consciousness  of  wrong,  he  pressed  her  to  his  manly  chest, 
and  covered  her  with  endearments,  that,  unmixed  with  one  impure  thought, 
were  sources  of  the  most  exquisite  pleasure  to  both.  To  the  past  they 
scarcely  dared  to  recur,  and  when  the  erring  imagination  would  for  an  instant 
prove  recreant  to  their  will,  they  as  quickly  banished  the  picture  from  their 
minds,  not  shrinking  coldly  from  contact  with  each  other,  but  by  increasing 
their  abandonment  to  the  new  and  delightful  emotion  which  had  now  displaced 
all  others  in  their  hearts.  Deep,  therefore,  was  the  tenderness  resulting  from 
this.  Passion  had  become  love,  less  fiery,  but  more  absorbing  in  its  nature. 
It  seemed  to  them  as  their  hearts  throbbed  againpt  each  other,  as  if  they  had 
been  intimate  from  childhood — never  had  been  strangers.  Anxious  again  to 
behold  the  noble  features  of  her  lover,  which  she  never  yet  dared  to  ex- 
amine with  attention,  Zuleim^  lighted  a  small  dark  lantern  which  she  had 
brought  with  her.  This  she  turned  upon  his  face.  A  soil-toned  and  serene 
expression  of  benignity  met  her  gaze,  so  perfectly  fascinating,  that,  despite 
of  herself,  the  soul  of  Zuleima  was  troubled.  She  threw  her  arm  around  his 
neck  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  Zuleima,"  murmured  the  Monk-Knight,  as  he  played  with  the  redundant 
masses  of  her  beautiful  hair,  "  I  sent  you  the  ring  you  gave  me,  tliat  yon 
might  understand  wherefore  it  was  I  sought  you  here,  and  at  this  hour.  Ah !  dis- 
appoint me  not  in  this  newly-created  expectation  of  my  longing  heart,  but  as- 
sure me  beyond  a  possibility  of  doubt,  that  you  will  be  my  sister,  that  as  a 
sister  I  may  adore  you.  Be  what  you  will  to  others — aye,  dearest,"  and  he 
looked  at  her  with  an  expression  she  could  not  misunderstand,  "  what  I  know 
you  are — confess  yourself  to  me  as  the  ardent  devotee  of  passion — tell  me  this, 
and  yet  your  sins  shall,  in  my  eyes,  be  white  and  chaste  as  the  pure  snow  of 
heaven,  if  that  you  prove  to  me  also,  that  you  are  in  truth  the  sister  that  my 
long-desolated  heart  so  craves  to  worship." 

Abdallah  spoke  passionately,  and  yet  the  placidity  of  his  brow  was  un- 
changed, the  expression  of  his  features  showed  the  calm  within,  while  the 
warm  words  that  fell  from  his  lips,  marked  the  strong  sentiment  of  his  soul. 

"  My  noble  brother,"  returned  Zulbima,  with  a  trembling  voice,  and  gazing 
even  as  one  fascinated  \ipon  his  unruffled  brow,  which  mocked  the  warmth  of 
the  words  he  uttered,  "  blessed  be  the  hour  when  I  gave  that  ring — blessed 
be  the  guilty  happiness  which  led  to  its  offering.  It  was  ordained  by  fate. 
Never  wou4d  the  brother  have  embraced  the  sister,  in  that  holiest  affection 
which  clings  around  the  heart,  had  not  the  strong  desire  of  the  man  called 
forth  the  undying  gratitude  of  the  woman." 

"  Thus  it  is,"  said  Abdallah,  as  he  enfolded  her  to  his  heart,  with  an 
earnestness  that  he  never  showed  before,  "  that  good  oflen  results  from  evil ; 
and  what  good  so  great,  as  that  which  gives  to  the  lone  heart  the  pure  de- 
votion of  a  sister's  love.  But  tell  me,  dear  Zuleima,  where  were  you  bom 
— where  were  passed  your  early  days?" 

"  Far  from  this,  dear  brother ;  in  Morocco." 

"In  Morocco!"  repeated  the  Monk- Knight,  with  gratified  surprise,  and 
pressing  Zuleima  closer  to  his  heart. 


■•'•• -'■"-**;-«»  . 


THE    MONK    KNIOHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


103 


"  Yos;  in  Morocco." 

"  And  your  father's  name?"  inqnired  Abdallah. 

"  Aph  Saphadin,  a  distinguished  warrior  of  the  Crescent." 

*'  My  noble  countryman  1 "  exclaimed  the  Monk,  "  I  Imew  and  loved  him 
well.  Zuleima — Zuleima — you  are  indeed  my  sister.  Ah  I  what  a  tide  of 
overpowering  joy  rushes  over  my  full  heart,  and  makes  me  feel,  for  the  first 
time,  as  though  I  was  something  more  than  human.  Can  what  I  experience 
be  common  to  all  men  ?  No ;  it  cannot  be.  It  is  the  dawning  of  a  new  light 
upon  my  long-darkened  soul.  Hitherto  I  have  lived  alone — almost  hateful 
to  myself,  but  now — now,  the  heart  that  has  been  so  long  dead  to  every  emo- 
tion not  inspired  by  the  Church,  is  filled  with  two  loves  for  those,  whom,  in 
the  strength  of  my  bigotry,  I  so  late  abhorred.  One  maddens  me  with  desire 
for  her  beauty ;  the  other,  suffuses  my  whole  being  with  tenderness.  But 
tell  me  farther,  my  own  cherished  sister,  of  your  father,  and  how  you  became 
the  wife  of  Saladin." 

"  The  history  is  soon  told,"  remarked  Zuleima.  "  When  I  was  ten  years 
old,  circumstances  connected  with  the  service  led  my  father  into  Syria,  where 
he  took  up  l\is  abode.  No  one  remained  of  the  family  but  myself,  for  all 
had  perished  either  by  the  sword  or  the  plague.  My  father  was  old  and 
enfeebled,  and  having  been  !>.  friend  of  Shiracouch,  the  uncle  of  Saladin,  the 
latter  chieftain  called  to  see  him  on  his  successful  entry  into  Syria.  I  was 
then  eighteen  ;  he  became  enamoured  of  me,  and  soon  obtained  my  father's 
sanction  that  I  should  be  his  wife.  Then,  I  liked  him  not,  for  he  was  too 
stern  of  mind  for  me ;  but  my  father  urging  the  defenceless  state  in  which 
I  should  be  left  in  the  event  of  his  decease,  which  was  almost  daily  to  be 
expected,  and  the  total  loss  of  his  own  wealth,  induced  me  to  give  my  con- 
sent. Soon  afterwards,  I  was  summoned  to  the  death-bed  of  my  father,  who, 
deeming  from  the  high  position  I  now  occupied,  that  I  should  have  ample 
opportunity  to  become  a  permanent  favorite,  gave  me  this  talisnianic  ring, 
which,  on  that  delicious  night,  dear  brother,  I  placed  upon  your  finger,  and 
which  I  now  beg  you  again  to  accept.  Although  you  may  spurn  and  laugh 
at  its  power,  yet  my  faith  is  firm  that  in  the  hour  of  trial  and  of  danger,  it 
will  keep  you  ever  safe  and  harmless.  You  cannot  know  the  delight  I  expe- 
rience in  transferring  it  from  my  possession  to  yours.  Keep  it,  dear  brother, 
for  my  sake.  At  last,  then,"  she  fondly  continued,  "  the  great  wish  of  my 
heart  is  gra.nted.  How  long  have  I  pined  for  the  presence  of  a  loved  brother, 
to  whom  I  oould  oonfide  all  my  thoughts,  my  wishes,  and  my  hopes — make 
him  the  guardian  of  my  heart's  secrets — and  here  at  length  have  I  found 
him  in  the  noblest  of  men." 

"  Alas  !  dear  Zuleima,  you  have  found  only  to  lose  him.  After  this  night 
we  behold  each  other  no  more." 

"Oh!  no — no;  she  exclaimed,  throwing  herself  upon  his  bared  chest, 
"  it  must  not  be ;  I  cannot  bear  to  part  with  you.  Dear,  dear  Abdallah,  you 
must  not  go." 

"  Impossible,  my  sister,"  be  answered ;  "  Saladin  has  giveo  ma  until  to- 


'! 


-i:tE«r 


r-^fl 


!| 

1 

\ 

1} 

j»ll 

1 

p': 

uV 

fJal 

if 

'k\ 

ti ". 

f: 


104 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF   .ST.    JOHN. 


morrow's  dawn  to  stay  within  his  ramp.    Then,  do  1  take  nie  hence  irom 
Palestine." 

"True,  I  recollect,"  she  returned,  in  a  faint  tone,  and  looking  very  pale 
"  you  seek  the  Lady  Ernestina.     Tn  her  arms,  all  thoughts  of  Zuleima  will 
be  forgotten." 

♦'  Forgotten — no ;  but  oft  remembered,",  mildly  pursued  the  Monk.  "  The 
Lady  Ernestina  shall  know  all — the  unintentional  crime  she  herself  pro- 
voked— its  repentance,  and  the  holy  and  fraternal  love  which  now  has  puri- 
fied our  veins.     The  Lady  Ernestina  will  surely  love  you." 

"  I  know  not  how  it  is,  Abdallah,"  she  murmured;  "but  though  my 
thoughts,  like  yours,  are  chastened  by  the  knowledge  of  the  new  and  holy 
tie  that  binds  us,  I  could  even  wish  I  were  that  woman  of  the  West — she 
taking  my  likeness  and  I  transformed  to  hers." 

The  Monk-Knight  shook  his  head,  and  looked  at  her  gravely,  yet  tenderly, 
while  he  imprinted  a  kiss  upon  her  forehead.  "  Zuleima,  your  soul  is  the 
abode  of  a  voluptuousness  that  well  becomes  the  rich  luxuriance  of  your 
form.  True,  I  am  but  a  novice  in  these  things,  and  yet,  methinks,  it  were 
impossible  for  one  so  framed  to  wake  tumultuous  passion  in  the  soul  to  be 
aught  other  than  you  are.  Love  as  you  will — let  boundless  pleasure  wrap  your 
senses  in  delight — give  fullest  freedom  to  your  desiring  will — lavish  your 
beauties  on  him  who  most  can  prize  them — not  only  does  Abdallah,  the 
sharer  of  your  purer  love,  counsel  but  approve  this ;  for  your  joy  must  be 
his  joy.  Do  all  this  then,  or  more.  Be  a  woman  in  the  dearest  sense  of 
the  endearing  term,  but  outrage  not  the  laws  of  nature  by  loving,  where  to 
love  is  a  crime.  In  future,  as  regards  myself,  you  must  ever  deem  as  if  the 
past  had  never  been." 

"  Nay,  nay,  my  beloved  brother,"  she  murmured  ;  "  that  were  asking  too 
much.  I  feel  that  the  past  can  never  be  restored.  I  wish  it  not,  but  memory 
will  dwell  upon  the  joy  despite  of  every  effort  to  enchain  her." 

"  Impassioned  woman,  how  differently  has  the  past  life  of  each  been  filled 
up.  Mine  in  abstinence  and  mortification  ;  yours  in  free  and  unrestrained 
indulgence  of  the  most  endearing  passions  of  our  nature.  Tell  me,  my 
sister,  whence  has  it  arisen,  that  being  of  the  same  race,  our  natures  were 
so  different?" 

"  Your  own  Christian  hordes  have  done  this,"  replied  the  blushing  Zu- 
leima. "  They  who  came  to  propagate  the  religion  of  Christ,  have  rather 
advanced  the  interests  of  Satan.  Living  temples  of  lust  have  they  made  of 
the  Saracen  mother  and  the  Saracen  maid.  Hitherto  the  minds  of  the  Mos- 
lem women  had  been  pure,  but  eventually  they  became  tainted  with  the 
immorality  of  the  wives  and  daughters  of  their  conquerors.  Women  and 
girls  became  so  subjected  to  the  will  of  the  followers  of  tiie  Cross,  that  that 
which  they  at  first  regarded  with  fear  and  horror,  became  at  length  a  desire, 
a  necessity.  Instead  of  shrinking  in  dismay  from  a  ravisher,  maddened 
with  his  gross  desires,  the  mother,  decked  in  gorgeous  apparel,  would 
tolerate  even  in  the  presence  of  her  daughter,  those  transports  for  the  indul- 
gence of  which  her  soul  sought  an  excuse  in  the  violence  that  was  threatened. 
Excited  and  encouraged  by  the  example  of  their  mothers,  the  daughters  sel- 
dom failed  to  yield  to  solicitation,  until  in  the  end  the  land  became  one  vast 


t 


THE   MONK   KNIGHT   OF    ST.    JOHN. 


105 


theatre  of  rape  and  adultery.  Nor  was  this  confined  to  the  lower  classes  of 
Ihe  people.  The  most  favored  by  riches,  and  the  most  delicate  by  nature, 
were  willing  sharers  of  the  fierce  passions  of  their  Christian  ravishers,  and 
many  of  them  so  loved  those  who  had  compelled  them  to  their  own  happiness, 
that  they  would  make  any  sacrifice  to  serve  them. " 

"  What  a  picture  of  our  own  surpassing  infamy,"  exclaimed  the  Monk- 
Knight.  "  Strange  that  I  should  have  boon  all  this  time  in  Palestine,  and 
remain  ignorant  of  these  excesses." 

"  Not  strange,  dear  Abdallah,"  resumed  Zuleima ;  "  for  you  were  too 
holy — too  devout — too  much  given  to  purer  things,  to  have  obtained  even  a 
knowledge  of  the  evil.  But  now  of  myself.  I  too  had  witnessed  those 
scenes,  f  too  had  beheld  voluptuous,  and  beautiful,  and  delicate  women, 
who  afterwards  complained  of  the  violence  oflTered  to  them,  yielding  them- 
selves up,  in  fullest  abandonment  of  gratified  desire,  to  the  fierce  men  who 
possessed  them.  Young  as  I  was,  the  recollection  sank  deeply  into  my 
heart.  I  had  always  been  of  ardent  temperament,  and  the  increase  of  years 
increased  my  natural  tenderness  of  soul,  which  was  rather  fed  by  the.  inten- 
sity of  emotion  of  the  ravished  than  of  the  ravisher.  Time  passed — my 
imagination  only  was  seduced — I  created  to  myself  an  image — a  beau- 
ideal,  which  I  invested  with  every  attribute  of  excellence,  and  to  which,  had 
it  been  possible  to  endow  it  with  vitality,  I  should  have  surrendered  myself 
body  and  soul.  This  was  the  dream  of  my  girlhood,  before  I  became  the 
wife  of  Saladin.  Loving  me  for  a  brief  season  with  all  the  ardor  of  his 
nature,  he  soon  developed  the  powerful  and  dominant  passion  of  my  soul ; 
but  he  was  not  the  ideal  Christian  knight,  whom  I  had  invested  with  super* 
human  beauty.  After  a  few  weeks'  possession,  Saladin's  manner  grew 
colder,  and  he  treated  me  with  the  same  indifference  which  he  extended  to 
his  other  wives.  It  was  soon  after  that  I  became  the  inmate  of  the  tent  of 
the  French  knight." 

"  In  whom,  sweet  Zuleima,"  said  Abdallah,  as  he  clasped  her  closer  to  his 
breast ;  "  you  found  your  beau-ideal  V 

"  I  did,"  replied  his  sister,  coloring  deeply  ;  "  but  how  know  you  that?" 

"  I  saw  it,"  said  the  Monk-Knight.  "  I  saw,  and  knelt,  and  prayed  for 
forgiveness  of  your  mutual  sin." 

"  Ah,  that  cotiiu  not  have  been  a  sin,"  murmured  Zuleima.  "  For  the 
first  time  in  my  life  I  was  happy." 

"  Let  me  not  dwell  on  the  recollection,"  exclaimed  the  Monk-Knight, 
with  sudden  energy.  "  Ha !  Zuleima,  my  sister,  this  at  least  cannot  be 
crime." 

His  left  arm  encircled  and  drew  her  to  his  herculean  chest.  Her  moist 
lips  were  upon  his.  His  right  hand  unrestrained,  and  trembling  more  and 
more  at  every  instant,  wandered  over  her  form. 

"  This  to  remind  me  ever  of  you  in  absence,"  said  Abdallah. 

Zuleima  lay  nearly  fainting  on  his  chest.     Her  only  answer  was  a  sigh. 

"  Oh  t  it  is  so  sweet  to  have  a  sister — to  press  her  to  one's  heart,"  re- 
marked Abdallah,  after  a  pause. 

"  Not  sweeter  than  to  possess  and  to  take  pride  in  the  possession  of  a  noble 


lit 

V 


I- £.•.■<:./«- 


"«:»., 


-'Ti 


106 


THK    MONK    KM'iMT    OK   >T.     lOHN. 


m 


and  generous  brother,"  said  Ziileima,  tenderly-     "  Would  that  1  had  been 
more  like  yourself." 

*'  Had  you  been  other  than  you  are,  I  should  not  have  loved  you  as  I  do," 
said  the  Monk-Knight. 

Zuleima,  you  love  that  favorite  of  your  beau-ideal— and  the  dear  object  of 
my  own  affection — the  handsome  Rudolph.  Nay,  blush  not,  sweetest.  1 
know  it  all." 

"  I  do,  Abdallah — next  to  yourself,  I  love  that  dear  boy  more  than  au^ht 
beside  on  earth." 

"  More  than  Salad  in  !" 

"  Yes,  more  than  Saladin.  The  feelings  they  inspire  are  widely  different. 
The  one  passion  ;  the  other  tenderness,  softness.  There,  do  I  not  give  you 
all  my  confidence  !  But  ah !  brought  upas  you  have  been,  my  brother,  in  the 
holy  cloister — acknowledging  not,  sharing  not  the  vices  which  the  followers 
of  Christ  have  introduced  into  every  dwelling  of  their  Eastern  conquests,  you 
must,  you  will,  think  me  very  wicked." 

"  Not  so,  my  dearest  Zuleima.  There  was  a  time,  and  but  recently,  when 
I  should  have  thought  so ;  but  a  new  light  has  dawned  upon  my  awaken- 
ed soul.  Never  can  that  be  wickedness  which  emanates  from  Natnre ; 
nor  can  the  sweet  infidelity  of  a  confiding  woman,  whose  heart  i?  '"illed  to 
overflowing  with  kindness,  be  accounted  crime  by  her.  Nothing  is  criminal 
that  does  not  violate  the  natural  law  of  God.  Incest  does  infringe  that  law, 
and  therefore  is  it  criminal.  Not  so  with  love.  Nature  recoils  not  from 
the  passion,  and  they  who  acknowledge  most  its  influence  are  those  to  whom 
God  has  given  souls  and  feelings  worthy  rather  of  the  possession  of  angels 
than  of  human  beings.  '     - 

"And  do  you  really  think  this,  Abdallah V  said  the  wife  of  Saladin, 
throwing  her  arms  around  the  neck  of  her  brother.  "  Ah,  even  so  have  I 
ever  believed,  and  hence  it  is  I  place  no  restraint  upon  my  will." 

"On  my  hope  of  Heaven,  I  do,"  returned  the  Monk-Knight,  impressively. 
"  Rapid  has  been  my  enfranchisement  from  the  fetters  of  prejudice.  I  believe 
that  in  creating  the  world,  the  infinite  God  had  for  His  ultimate  object  the 
gratification  and  approval  of  the  wondrous  works  of  His  will,  and  that  the 
crowning  feature  of  his  joy  is  in  the  contemplation  of  that  mysterious  and 
hallowing  love  of  sex  for  sex,  which  pervades  His  universe.  Nay,  more,  I 
believe  He  has  given  it  only  to  a  favored  few  to  realize  the  full  fruition 
of  that  which  we  call  desire,  yet  which,  in  fact,  is  a  divine  mystery  without 
a  name." 

"  Ah  !  how  truly  spoken,"  murmured  the  tender  Zuleima.  "  But  teli  nit, 
brother,  can  the  violation  of  the  shrinking  maid  and  unwilling  matron  tind 
favor  then  in  the  sight  of  Heaven  1" 

"  Most  surely  not,"  replied  Abdallah.  "  The  man  who  murders,  the  man 
who  robs,  the  man  who  slanders,  does  injury  to  his  neighbor,  which  is  for 
bidden  by  the  law  of  nature  and  of  God.  In  like  manner,  the  man  who 
compels  a  woman  to  his  lust,  does  wrong  unto  that  neighbor  whom  he  is 
enjoined  to  love  even  as  himself.  But  it  must  not  be  said  that  Heaven  dis 
approves  the  utmost  intensity  of  that  passion,  which  emanating  from  God 
alone,  is  mutually  shared. 


^ ' '  ■'•^AmiU)lltlKf*n»tim<mi  mm  v. 


-\::-  r--' 


■_-'v*-~-'^. 


THK    MONK    KNIGHT    Ob    ST.    JOHN. 


107 


'•  It  cannot  be  said,'  remarked  Zuleima,  srniiiug  sweetly  upon  hor  brother, 
"that  tlie  practice  which  prevaila  wilh  tlie  Christian  women  in  Palestine, 
diflers  much  from  the  lax  principles  of  the  warm-lem|>ered  iSarae^n." 

"  No  ;  we  all  know,  that  from  the  (lueen  downwards,  there  is  scarce  a  Chris- 
tian matron  who  has  not  committed  error,  or  a  maidc  who  has  not  sur- 
rendered her  purity.  Still  there  is  this  diHorenoe  between  my  theory  and 
their  practice  ;  that  tlic  latter  carries  with  it  a  consciousness  of  sin,  while 
the  former  views  it  in  the  light  of  a  natural  impulse.  But  to  return  to  Ru- 
dolph— You  love  him  l" 

*'  Yes,  tenderly  do  I  love  him — even  as  though  he  were  my  own  child." 

"  Nay,  naughty  Zuleima,"  observed  the  Monk-Knight ;  "  there  riots  your 
^'uilty  and  intemperate  imagination  again.  But  tell  me.  Were  Saladin  no 
more,  do  you  think  you  could  love  the  boy  sufficiently  to  become  his  wife, 
according  to  the  rites  of  the  Christian  church?" 

■'Most  joyfully,"  she  answered;  "but  wherefore  the  question,  dear 
AbdallahV 

"  You  would  then  forsake  Moslemism  for  him." 

"  I  would.  Nor  great  would  be  the  sacrifice.  Too  long  have  I  beheld  Chris- 
tian and  Moslem,  deluging  the  world  with  blood,  to  believe  in  the  usefulness 
of  either.  1  worship  but  the  holy  and  eternal  Allah.  But  since  you  will 
that  1  should  become  the  former,  when  Saladin  is  no  more,  it  shall  be  done  : 
yet,  again,  wherefore  brother?" 

"  That,  as  Rudolph's  wife,  you  may  quit  this  land  of  blood  for  ever, 
and  pass  your  future  days  in  fair  Auvergne,  near  your  brother  and  his 
Ernestina.' 

"  Will  the  dog  follow  his  master?  Will  a  churchmao  look  to  his  living  ? 
Doubt  me  not.    I  will.' 

The  Monk-Knight  rose  from  the  ottoman ;  he  went  to  the  entrance  of 
the  tent,  and  in  a  low  voice,  called  the  name  of  the  boy.  The  watchful 
page  approached,  when  Abdallah,  taking  his  hand,  led  him  in  silence  to  the 
ottoman  whereon  Zuleima  still  reclined,  holding  the  lamp,  so  as  to  throw  its 
light  upon  their  faces,  while  her  own  remained  partially  hidden  in  shade. 

"  Zuleima,"  he  said,  as  he  placed  her  hand  in  that  of  the  page,  "  with 
the  ideas  you  entertain  of  Moslemism  the  tie  that  unites  you  to  Saladin  is 
but  an  empty  ceremony — binding  only  as  the  heart  dictates.  You  love 
this  boy?" 

"  Tenderly,  sweetly,  fondly,"  she  replied,  in  trembling  tones. 

"  You  embrace  Christianity  then ;  you  renounce  the  creed  of  the 
Prophet?" 

"  I  do.     Solemnly  do  1  embrace  the  one,  and  renounce  the  other." 

"  My  own  dear,  generous 'mother  I"  exclaimed  Rudolph,  excitedly. 

"  Then  let  the  wife  of  Saladin,  who  is  no  wife  in  the  eyes  of  the  Christian 
Church,  seeing  that  she  is  one  of  many,  be  the  wife  of  Rudolph.  In  my 
priestly  office  do  I  pronounce  you  such.  Rudolph,  place  this  ring,  the  dear- 
est relic  of  a  departed  father,  upon  the  hand  of  Zuleima.  There,  the  bene- 
diction of  a  brother's  love  be  upon  you." 

The  boy  threw  himself  upon  her  bosom  ;  he  pressed  his  fresh  and  fragrant 
hps  to  hers,  and  the  joy  of  his  heart  was  complete. 


W 


■■i-i.-S*;;'''  isti;. 


h. 


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108 


THK    MONK    KNliJHT    OK    >T.    JOHN. 


"  And  in  what  relation  do  1  now  stand  to  Saludin  V  asked  /uleima,  when 
she  had  freed  herself  from  Rudolph's  ardent  embrace. 

"  In  none  the  ('hurch  approves,"  said  the  Monk-Kniglit  solemnly.  "  Hut 
the  dawn  is  beginning  to  break.  Rudolph,  when  Saladin  dies,  or  even  be- 
fore, should  it  be  possible,  follow  with  Zuleima  to  Auvergne.  1  shall  expect 
you." 

'*  Ah  !  tru^t  uio  well,  Sir  iMoiik.  My  impatience  will  not  wait  the 
death  of  Saladin.  The  first  occasion  1  shall  seize  and  bear  the  wife  you 
liave  given  me  far  from  his  arms  and  presence." 

"  Enough  !"  retuined  the  Monk-Knight.  "  Time  presses.  If  your  ab- 
sence from  your  tent  be  remarked,  Zuleima,  we  are  lost." 

One  last  and  final  embrace,  and  Zuleima  and  Rudolph  stealthily  regained 
the  tent  of  the  former. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

Six  months  had  passed  since  the  events  recorded  in  the  last  chapter.  It 
was  a  beautiful  evening  in  early  autumn,  such  as  has  been  peculiar  to  the 
south  of  France  throughout  all  ages.  A  great  fete  was  in  progress  in  the 
chateau  of  Auvergne,  for  it  was  the  anniversary  of  the  marriage  of  de  Bois- 
court — the  loved  owner  of  the  domain  with  the  Lady  Ernestina,  and  the 
latter  had  resolved  to  commemorate  the  day  in  a  manner  worthy  of  her  distant 
and  much-loved  lord.  Such  nobles  with  their  dames,  of  the  province,  as  h?/^ 
not  joined  the  Crusade,  and  a  host  of  retainers  who  had  been  led  behind  to 
till  the  vast  extent  of  soil  constituting  the  seigniory,  were  now  present  to  en- 
joy the  fete,  and  the  courts  and  rooms  of  the  chateau  were  filled  unto  crowding. 
Wine  flowed  in  abundance,  and  the  table  literally  groaned  with  food  of  every 
kind,  from  the  wild  boar  of  Brittany  to  the  delicate  ortolan  of  Spain.  The 
fete  itself  was  a  masked  one,  and  gay  and  fancy  costumes  among  the  higher, 
(ind  droll  and  grotesque  caricatures  among  the  lower,  formed  a  motley 
assemblage,  wherein  the  pomp  and  ceremonies  of  rank  were,  for  the  mo- 
ment, laid  aside,  while  one  united  desire  seemed  to  animate  all — that  of  con- 
tributing to  the  enjoyment  of  the  hour. 

The  Lady  Ernestina  herself — the  confessed  queen  of  the  fete — was  gor- 
geously, magnificently  dressed.  The  bottom  of  her  robe  of  rich  purple 
velvet  was  trimmed  with  strips  of  ermine  of  the  most  costly  kind,  and  just 
narrow  and  delicate  enough  to  take  from  the  heaviness  which  would  other- 
wise have  been  given  to  it.  The  front,  cut  very  low,  and  displaying  all  the 
rich  contour  of  her  glowing  bosom,  was  bordered  with  wide  and  drooping 
lace  of  the  same  texture,  and  in  her  dark,  auburn  hair,  she  wore  a  single 
white  rose.  Her  moulded  arms  were  bare,  and,  like  the  full  bosom,  the 
tight  sleeves  of  her  robe  were  trimmed  deeply  with  the  same  rich  lace. 
Whenever  she  moved,  the  witchery  of  her  exquisite  form,  fascinated  every 
heart,  while  as  the  half-closed  and  long-lashed  eye,  languishing  even  in 
the  excitement  of  the  occasion,  endorsed  the  sweetness  of  the  words  t%|t 


li 


.„.**«»    ■•  ^  .,r**'  *«»ti*»-- 


»,mmm*^; 


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THE    MONK    KNrOHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


109 


flowed  from  rosy  lipb  never  opened  but  to  disclose  the  rows  of  pearl  that  by 
within  the  casket,  the  troubled  mind  would  wander,  and  paint  in  imagina- 
tion the  deep  perfection  of  the  beauteous  whole. 

Near  her  side,  and  watching  her  enchanting  movements  with  the  anxiety 
of  V  lovor,  jealous  that  the  regards  of  her  mistress  should  be  too  much  be- 
3tov>nd  upon  another,  was  the  gentle  and  dark-haired  Henriette.  Appa- 
rentl  /,  and  indeed  avowedly,  she  was  there  to  receive  the  commands  of  her 
mistress  in  whatever  related  to  the  urrang«ment  of  the  fete,  but  a  close  ob- 
.sorver  might  have  seen  that  a  sweeter  influence  caused  her  to  take  delight 
and  gratification  in  the  oflice,  than  the  mere  desire  to  acquit  herself  of 
a  duty  assigned  to  her. 

it  was  towiirds  evening  when  the  guests,  the  male  portion  tired  out  with 
athletic  games  and  wine — the  female  with  rout  and  laughter,  and  romping, 
and  the  e.vhilirating  but  fatiguing  dance,  began  to  withdraw.  The  hours  of 
rest  were  then  early,  and  scarce  had  the  twilight  left  them,  when  the  va.st 
chateau,  which  had  hitherto  resounded  with  the  voices  of  hundreds,  was 
silent,  as  if  a  sudden  spell  had  come  over  its  now  deserted  rooms  and  corri- 
dors, where  the  lightest  footfall  might  be  heard  in  sharp  echoes  from  the 
basement  to  the  roof. 

Henriette  and  the  Baroness  were  alone.  The  eyes  of  the  younger  wore 
bent  upon  the  sweet  form  of  her  mistress  with  an  expression  of  tenderness 
and  admiration,  which  brought  a  deeper  blush — she  could  not  tell  wherefore 
— to  her  already  animated  cheek. 

"  Well,  dearest  pet,"  she  asked,  "  how  did  our  litte  fete  find  favor ! 
Was  it  worthy  of  my  noble  husband?" 

Henriette  burst  into  tears. 

"What  is  the  matter,  love?  The  exertions  of  the  day  have  fatigued 
you — made  you  nervous.  Compose  yourself," — and  she  kissed  her  fondly 
on  the  brow. 

"  Oh,  no  !  it  is  not  that,"  she  said  ;  "  It  is  because  I  love  you  so  much, 
dear  lady,  that  1  feel  thus.  If  I  have  done  my  little  duty  to-day,  it  has 
been  mechanically.  My  heart  was  not  in  the  work.  I  was  too  much  occupied 
in  thinking  how  unhappy  I  was,  each  time,  in  being  away  from  you.  Oh  ! 
dear  Lady  Ernestina,  I  cannot  find  words  to  express  the  fullness  of  my  re- 
gard for  you." 

All  this  was  said  passionately,  yet  in  a  gentle  tone  of  voice. 

•'  Henriette,  my  child,"  returned  the  Baroness,  in  a  tone  of  deep  emo- 
tion, as  she  caught  her  fondly  to  her  heart,  "  you  certainly  do  love  me  very 

dearly." 

"  Ah  !  dearest  Lady  Ernestina,  you  cannot  conceive  how  much  I  adore 
you.  I  worship  you — I  always  think  of  you.  1  could  desire  to  do  nothing 
else  in  life  than  to  gaze  on  you.  Should  I  ever  be  so  sinful  as  to  entertain 
the  slightest  doubt  of  the  all-perfection  of  God,  and  of  His  goodness,  I  shall 
only  have  to  call  up  the  image  of  the  Baroness  de  Boiscourt,  with  her  beau- 
tiful and  redundant  hair  flowing  over  her  polished  shoulders,  and  overspread- 
ing her  graceful  form.'' 

"Dear,  sweet  enthusiast,"  said  the  Lady  Ernestina,  pressing  her  with 
warmth,  even  passion — "  what  an  extrordinary  girl  you  are  !" 


'Mmm-- 


IS, 


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TH£    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


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"  Ah  I  purtiued  Henrietu;,  with  momenturily  heightening  colur, "  what 
beauty,  what  holiness,  what  wonderfulness  of  conception  of  the  glorious  God, 
who,  to  crown  the  loveliness  of  the  daughters,  to  whom  he  hiis  given  every 
otiier  attribute  of  perfection,  has  added  a  power  of  fascitiation,  which  subdues 
the  soul — whicli  angels  even  must  adore." 

Again  the  liaroncss  pressed  the  lovely  and  half-fainting  girl  to  her  lieart 
Heniiettus  right  arm  was  thrown  around  her  neck — her  left  hand  held  and 
pre8s<3d  that  of  her  mistress.    Her  own  sweet  lips  met  those  poutingly  offered 
by  the  enchantress  upon  whose  heaving  bosom  her  flushed  face  reposed. 

"  Methinks,"  said  the  Baroness,  playfully,  and  after  a  few  minutes  of  un- 
broken silfince  on  either  hand — "  that  Rudolph,  or  even  my  noble  husband, 
would  like  to  have  pillowed  on  their  ampler  chests  the  burning  cheek  that 
presses  upon  my  own.  What  say  you,  dearest,"  pressing  the  hand  she  held 
grasped  within  her  own.  "  Which  should  it  be — de  Boiscourt  or  Rudclpli'" 

"Neither,'"  murmured  Henriette,  smiling,  and  looking  into  her  eyes. 
"  The  love  I  bear  to  you  is  sweeter,  holier  far,  than  ruder  man  can  comprehend. 
Rather  would  I  view  the  loosened  masses  of  that  Madonna-like  hair  while 
pillowed  on  the  breast  that  heaves  to  mine,  than  seek  idolatry  from  those 
you  name. ' ' 

"  Child,"  said  the  Lady  Ernestina,  with  blushing  cheek  and  animated 
glance,  while  a  heavenly  smile  played  upon  her  lips,  "  you  will  seduce  me. 
Yet  be  it  so,  love,"  and  she  wiped  the  juices  of  her  lips  away  in  her  kisses. 
"  You  shall  sleep  with  me  again  to-night,  and  our  thoughts  and  speech  shall 
be  of  Palestine." 

"Of  Palestine,  ah  !  true,  I  had  forgotten.  Dear  Lady  Ernestina,  this  word 
reminds  me  of  something  I  had  injunctions  not  to  break  to  you  until  the 
guests  had  all  departed.  Alas  !  but  now  I  should  have  told  you  ;  but  I  know 
not  how  it  is,  I  forget  every  thing  when  not  near  you — more  so  when  near." 

"  What  is  it,  Henriette?"  inquired  the  Lady  Ernestina,  eagerly.  "  News 
of  my  lord  ?     Speak,  dear,  what  have  you  to  impart  ?" 

"  As  I  went  to  execute  your  message  to  the  garde  chasse  for  bouqueta 
for  the  lady  guests,  I  found  him  in  conversation  with  a  man  of  such  noble 
and  majestic  mien,  that  I  was  awed  as  one  who  gazed  upon  a  superior  being. 
He  was  disguised,  I  presume,  in  compliance  with  the  fashion  of  the  fete,  as 
a  monk,  and  bore  upon  his  breast  an  iron  crucifix." 

"  But  his  features?"  interrupted  the  Lady  Ernestina,  with  an  expression 
of  deep  interest. 

"  These  I  coulo  not  see,"  continued  Henriette  :  "  for,  as  I  have  just  said, 
he  wore,  in  common  with  the  guests  around,  a  mask,  which  was  of  the  same 
dark  color  with  his  robe.  There  was  something,  my  dear  lady,  so  imposing 
in  his  mien  and  stature,  that  I    hesitated  to  advance." 

"  '  That,  holy  father,  is  the  Baroness's  friend  and  confidant,'  said  Picard, 
evidently  replying  to  some  previous  question.  '  Since  you  will  not  enter 
and  partake  of  the  hospitalities  which  are  open  to  every  body,  this  being  the 
anniversary  of  our  dear  absent  lord's  marriage  with  the  Lady  Ernestina,  you 
may  deliver  what  message  you  wish  to  her,  and  it  will  be  straight  conveyed 
to  the  loved  mistress  of  the  chateau  d'Auvergne.     Ah?  fa,  come  forward. 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


Ill 


MiidemuiHell  IJ Annette,  please,  and  take  a  lueesage  from  this  holy  monk  to 
the  mistress.'  ' 

"  My  heart  beat,  with  1  know  not  what  ;  the  mild  dignity  of  the  stranger 
imposed  upon  m"  greatly.  Tremblingly  I  began  to  advance,  when  he  stepped 
rather  quickly  forward  to  meet  me,  as  I  thought,  in  order  not  to  be  over- 
heard by  Picard,  in  what  he  was  about  to  communicate. 

"  '  My  child,'  he  said,  in  tones  of  such  sweetness,  that  1  loiigedto  behold 
the  lips  that  uttered  them.  '  tell  the  Lady  Ernestina  de  Boiscourt  that  the 
Italian  Monk,  Gonzales,  a  friend  of  the  noble  Baron,  her  husband,  brings 
tidings  from  the  Holy  Land,  which  only  can  he  breathe  in  secresy  in  her 
ear.  I  would  have  entered  even  now  to  her,  but  fain  would  spare  the  joy 
that  reigns  within.  A  morn  of  gladness  may  well  precede  a  noon  of  lamenta- 
tion. Tell,  then,  your  sweet  mistress,  that  at  the  tenth  hour  this  night, 
when  all  is  still  within  the  chateau,  I  will  return,  and,  announced  only  by 
yourself,  make  known  the  purport  of  my  mission.' 

"  '  I  will.  Lord  Monk,'  I  replied,  in  some  confusion  ;  for  I  really  was  so 
overcome  by  his  manner,  that  I  scarcely  knew  what  I  said. 

"  <  Remember,  child,'  he  added,  taking  and  affectionately  pressing  my 
hand,  at  which  I  was  the  more  confused  and  flattered,  '  what  I  say  to  you 
passes  but  to .  Ha  !'  he  exclaimed,  suddenly  starting  back  and  involun- 
tarily removing  his  mask  as  if  to  obtain  a  better  view.     '  Who  is  that  ?' 

"  Ah  I  my  lady  what  a  face.  It  was  such  a  one  as  we  see  in  representa- 
tions of  Christ.  If  I  could  love  a  man  better  than  I  do  you,  I  declare  that  I 
should  have  loved  him.  He  was  obliged  to  repeat  the  questions,  for  so 
completely  was  I  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  his  calm  and  saint-like 
features,  that  I  could  not  answer  him.  At  last  turning  to  see  whom  he 
meant,  1  saw  you  standing  at  a  distant  window  talking  to  the  Countess  of 
Clermont. 

"  '  That,  Holy  Father,'  I  replied,  '  is  the  Baroness  de  Boiscourt.  Oh,  if 
you  only  knew  how  beautiful  and  how  good  she  is,  almost  as  ardently  as  I 
do,  you  would  love  her.' 

"' The  Lady  Ernestina,"  murmured  the  Monk,  turning  pale  as  death — 
"  beautiful — love  her — did  you  say  I  loved  her.  God  bless  you,  my  child,' 
and  he  imprinted  a  moist  kiss  upon  my  brow.  *  Remember  the  tenth  hour — 
yet  speak  not  of  this,  I  charge  you,  until  the  guests  have  departed.' 

"Then  hurriedly  resuming  his  mask,  he  turned  round,  and  slipping  a 
piece  of  money  into  the  hand  of  Picard,  walked  slowly  out  of  the  garden 
and  disappeared,  while  I  gave  the  necessary  directions  for  the  flowers." 

"  What  can  all  this  mean?  Who  is  he,  and  what  news  can  he  bring 
from  Palestine  that  concerns  me?"  remarked  the  Baroness,  with  an  air  of 
anxiety.  "  Henriette,  you  should  have  U,,..  me  this  before.  But  no,  I 
have  forgotten,  he  desired  you  not.'" 

*'  True,  my  Lady.  He  seemed  not  to  wish  to  interrupt  the  gaiety  of  the 
entertainment." 

"  The  Monk  Gonzales — an  Italian  too  !"  pursued  the  Lady  Ernestina, 
thoughtfully,  and  speaking  aside.  "  A  man  of  noble  mien  and  stature.  Can 
h  really  be  he.  Stop,  beating  heart.  Gonzales  Abdallah,  or  Abdallah 
Gonzales  !     But  then  he  does  not  call  himself  more  than  a  friend — an  ordi- 


\f^ 


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Mi 


ff 


113 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT   OP   ST.    JOHN. 


1 1' 


1 


in' 


'«H, 


nary  friend  of  mj  husband,  while  he,  who  saved  hia  life  M  oft  in  (MttteBt,  ii 
the  second-aelf  of  ray  noble  and  generoiia  lord,  Besidee,  where  should  be 
that  holy  ovin,  on  whom  my  thoughts  have  so  long  dwelt,  but  vvith  the  dear 
Alfred,  at  whotte  desiru  these  new  wild  feelings  have  entered  in  my  soul. 
But  timo  will  tell.  Some  wandering  monk,  perhaps,  who  tired  of  his  long 
pilgrimage  in  Palestine,  has  sought  repose  within  this  peaceful  land.  Hon> 
riette,"  she  said,  more  immedialely  addressing  the  young  girl,  "  you  say 
this  stranger  will  be  here  at  the  tenth  hour!" 

"  He  so  stated  to  me,  dear  Lady."  -v.'    ' 

"  Then,  sweetest,  assist  mc  to  prepare  in  my  ante-chamber  above — the  fittest 
pluce  tor  secrcey,  since  secresy  is  sought  by  him — some  small  refreshment 
for  this  sacred  munk.  Doubtless  his  fare  in  travelling  through  Palestine  has 
not  been  of  the  choice  kind  of  our  fete  to-day.  A  portion  of  this,  with  wine 
of  the  vineyards  of  Champagne,  and  of  the  generous  and  aroma-breathing 
Burgundy,  we  will  convey  thither  ourselves.  Who  brings  good  news 
from  those  we  love  in  Palestine,  should  find  us  no  niggards  in  tender  of  hos- 
pitality." 

"  And  surely,  not  such  a  holy  father  of  our  church,  and  one  so  proper  in 
his  manliness,"  replied  the  sweet  Henriette,  blushing  at  her  own  words. 
'  Take  not  the  trouble,  dear  Lady  Ernestina,  that  office  I  will  so  direct  as  to 
■neet  your  fullest  wishes." 

"  Nut  so,  my  child,"  returned  the  Bareness,  as  she  again  embraced  her. 
*'  It  were  well  the  serfs  were  not  disturbed,  but  suffered  calmly  to  enjoy  the 
sleep  to  which  their  recent  toil  so  well  disposes  them.  None,  as  you  say, 
must  know  of  his  approach,  therefore  none  must  witness  the  prc|>aration  for 
another  guest.     Come,  girl,  we  must  wait  upon  ourselves." 

Soon  the  necessary  arrangements  were  made  in  the  room  which  has  been 
described  in  a  former  chapter  as  adjoining  the  nuptial  chamber  of  the  Lord 
and  Lady  of  Auvergne.  The  hour  had  nearly  arrived,  and  with  each  suc- 
ceeding minute,  the  Lady  Ernestina,  who  had  thrown  herself  into  the  large 
fautcuil,  was  filled  with  an  anxiety,  she  sought  in  vain  to  repress.  Henri- 
ette had  gone  below,  to  answer  the  first  summons  at  the  door,  and  to  conduct 
the  Monk  in  silence  to  her  mistress. 

At  length  the  light  and  subdued  tread  of  human  feet  was  heard  without. 

"  Oh  God,  what  a  presentiment,"  murmured  the  Ijady  Ernestina,  with 
irrepressible  emotion.  "  My  heart  tells  me  that  the  Monk  Gonzales  is  Ab- 
(Inlhih,  the  \sarmfriet.a  of  my  own  loved  lord.  What  means  this  ?  Ah! 
what  is  to  become  of  me  ?  To  what  trials,  to  what  temptations  am  I  to  be 
exposed  ?  Come  in,"  she  said,  in  a  trembling  voice,  in  answer  to  the  low 
knoA  of  the  cautious  Henriette. 

The  door  opened — the  young  girl  entered,  announced  the  Monk  Gonzales, 
still  masked,  and  then  withdrew. 

"  Oo  I  then,  at  last,  stand  in  the  presence  of  the  Lady  Ernestina  de  Bois- 
rr ..  *,"  said  the  stranger,  after  a  short  silence,  and  in  tones  that  went  to  the 
hear:  of  his  auditor. 

"  I  am,  indeed,  her  you  name,"  she  replied,  while,  with  winning  gr«oe, 
she  moti  med  her  questioner  to  be  seated.  "  Holy  father,  I  have  received 
your  message,  and  gladly  will  I  bear  the  ttews  ftom  Paleetine,  if  that  nevi 


# 


THE    MONK    KNIOHT    OF    NT     JOHN. 


113 


brinp  tidings  of  my  dear  lord's  health.  Rut  first,  I  pray  you,  let  not  the 
featurcH  of  the  friend  of  my  iiol)lt!  huaband  longt-r  wear  disguise.  Reinovo 
your  mask.  Sir  Monk,  and  taste  of  the  poor  hospitality  the  wife  of  the  brave 
de  Boiscoiirt  offers." 

"  Nay,  nay,  .nwi-et  lady.  I  dofT  the  now  unneedful  guise  at  your  cona- 
mand  ;  but  who  eould  hunger  or  erave  the  common  food  of  nature,  when  in 
the  presence  of  rier  who  makes  the  heart  forget  all  grosser  appetite'" 

As  he  spoke,  tlie  stranger  removed  tiie  mask,  exposing  to  her  full  and 
startled  view,  a  noble  counlenanee.  .Sho  had  ri.sen  on  his  entrance,  but  now 
advancing,  and  taking  lier  hand,  he  caused  her  to  resume  her  seat. 

The  Lady  Ernestina  regarded  him  (ilosely.  That  placid  brow,  those  bene- 
volent and  radiant  features — that  humble  yet  majestic  mien,  were  even  what 
hci  imagination  had  so  long  treasured — and  when  he  took  her  hand,  there 
ran  a  lightning  tremor  through  her  frame,  which  caused  the  color  to  forsake 
ner  cheek,  and  her  half-closed  eye  to  sink  beneath  the  calm,  fixed  gaze  of  ad- 
miration, which  seemed  to  penetrate  her  very  soul.  Suddenly  making  an 
efTort  to  rally,  she  remarked,  somewhat  mockingly,  yet  in  a  troubled 
tone  : 

"  Mcthinks  the  Monk  Gonzales  has  learned  much  courtesy  in  the  blood- 
stained fields  of  Piilestinc,  and  that  the  cowl  has  ot\  been  thrown  aside,  to 
tilt  in  honor  of  his  mistress  in  the  ranks  of  chivalry.  You  said," — and 
she  looked  earnestly,  yet  modestly  at  him — "  that  Gonzales  is  your  name." 

"  Even  80,  noble  lady.  The  Monk  Gonzales,  of  no  repute  I  grant,  is  still 
the  friend  of  the  noble  Baron  dc  Boiscourt,  nor  quite  unworthy  to  expect 
a  fairer  judgment  of  his  heart  and  purpose  than  what  these  words  convey." 

"  Nay,  holy  father,  pardon  me,"  she  replied  with  a  momentarily  increas- 
ing color,  and  in  a  trembling  voice,  for  her  soul  was  touched — mine  were  but 
the  words  of  playfulness.  "  But  to  your  news  from  Palestine  :  I  am  ready  to 
hear  it.  Yet  1  pray  you,  ere  you  begin,  let  me  pour  forth  a  goblet  of  rich 
Burgundy,  since  grosser  food  you  shun.  This  should  not  be.  As  the  friend 
of  my  dear  husband,  it  were  meet  you  should  partake  even  of  the  remnant 
of  a  feast,  given  in  honor  of  this  our  wedding-day." 

"  Nay,  fair  lady.  I  knew  it  not.  Here  is  to  the  nuptials  of  the  Lady 
Ernestina  de  Boiscourt  with  the  husband  who  adores  her,"  he  exclaimed,  as 
he  drained  off  the  full  goblet  she  had  poured  out  for  him.  "  May  to-mor- 
row's sun  not  rise,  before  she  presses  to  her  panting  heart  him,  whose  love 
for  her  will  be  enduring  as  the  arch  of  heaven." 

"Ah!  what  mean  you?"  almost  shrieked  the 
news  you  bring  1     Is  my  soul's  lord  returned? 
and  are  you  here  to  prepare  me  for  his  arrival  ? 
you,  speak,  and  yet  kill  me  not  with  happiness." 

Involuntarily  she  had  risen,  and  now  leaned  her  head  confidingly — gratefully 
upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Even  as  you  have  divined,  lady,"  he  answered  with  the  same  calm  ex- 
pression of  face,  while  his  breast  was  filled  with  the  most  thrilling  sensations. 
He  felt  her  sweet  breath  fanning  his  neck,  and  saw  her  blue-veined  bosom 
developed  in  all  its  richness  of  luxuriance,  as  it  rose  and  fell  with  her  deep 
emotion.     "  Yes,"  he  continued,  with  a  depth  of  intonation  that  startled  her, 


Baroness.     "  Is  this  the 

Has  he  come  with  you — 

Speak — speak,  I  charge 


pi 


114 


THK    MONK    KNHIHT    OK    ST.    JOHN. 


"  thin  night  will  your  adoring  huaband  behold  the  gloriouB  beauty  of  hU 
long-widuwcd  wilie— the  divine  treasure  of  her  all-giorioua  form  Bhall  be  hi* 
to-night  and  for  ever." 

Receding  from  the  warmth  of  his  language,  and  the  passionate  embraco 
with  which  it  was  accompanied,  the  Lady  Pirneatina  drew  suddenly  back. 
Gonzales  remarked  this,  and  immediately  changing  his  tone  and  manner  for 
.1  bearing  better  suited  to  his  holy  character,  withdrew  his  arm,  and  resuming 
his  placid  exterior,  said — 

"  Pardon  me,  lady,  if  in  my  joy  at  the  coming  happiness  of  my  friend,  I 
should  have  seemed  to  forget  myself  by  too  strong  an  expression  of  rejoice- 
ment for  his  sake.  Lady,  when  you  are  quite  prepared  to  listen  to  the  intel- 
ligence with  which  I  am  charged  I  shall  reveal  it." 

"  Quickly,  then,  Sir  Monk,"  she  returned.  "  I  languish  with  impa- 
tience.    But  where  is  my  lord  1     Why  comes  he  not '' 

"  Not  two  hours  hence,  and  you  shall  hold  him  to  your  loving  heart, 
lady,"  said  the  Monk,  struggling  painfully  to  subdue  his  inward  emotion. 
"  Meanwhile,  I  will  recount  both  the  cause  of  his  coming,  and  the  necessity 
for  strict  secresy  which  attaches  to  his  being  here.  Listen  then,  lady,  I 
shall  be  brief,  for  'he  night  already  wanes." 

He  drew  his  chair  near  the  fauteuil  of  the  Lady  Ernestina,  and  thus  began. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 


"  Has  the  news  yet  reached  Auvergne  of  the  battle  of  Tiberiaa,  aad 
the  subsequent  fall  of  Jerusalem,  sweet  Lady  ?'' 

"  Of  Jerusalem !  of  the  holy  city  !"  repeated  the  Lady  Ernestina,  with 
astonishment.     "  Can  this  really  be  ?'' 

"  Alas  !''  returned  the  Monk,  "  the  mother  of  Christian  Palestine  is  no 
more.  Where  late  the  Cross  triumphant  floated,  the  hated  Crescent  now 
unfolds  its  emblem  to  the  eye." 

"  Sad  news,  indeed,"  she  answered ;  "  but  what  of  my  husband?  He 
has  escaped,  has  he  not  ?  The  giant  arm  of  Abdallah ;  he  whom,  pardon 
me.  Sir  Monk,  I  had  hoped  you  were,  that  noble,  that  majestic  man  to 
whom  my  grateful  heart  does  homage,  next  akin  to  love,  defended  him 
in  peril.    Was  it  not  so  ?" 

"  Lady,"  said  the  Monk,  again  taking  her  hand  and  smiling  one  of  his 
subduing  smiles ;  "  you  forget  I  have  stated  that,  ere  two  hours  have  , 
passeci,  your  noble  lord  will  taste  of  Heaven  in  there  arms." 

"  Trae,  true,"  said  the  Lady  Ernestina,  coloring  deeply,  "  but  the  tid- 
ings of  the  loss  of  Jerusalem  have  so  confused  me,  that  I  scarcely  know 
the  words  I  utter." 

"  At  the  battle  of  Tiberias — ^the  most  fearful  onset  of  the  war  in  Pales* 
tine — the  noble  Baroa's  life  was  three  times  saved  by  the  Monk-Knight 
Abdallah,  of  whom  you  speak.    Alas!  taken  prisoner,  with  three  bun- 


THE    MONK    KNKIHT   OK    sT.    JOHN. 


115 


Jreil  Kni^lita  of  tlie  T«inple,  and  an  equal  number  of  St.  John,  that  bosom 
friend  of  your  lovod  lord,  for  a  while  spared  by  the  cruel  ordnrofSaladin, 
perished  witti  his  fomradeii  by  the  s'    nntfr." 

''  Abdallah  Hlam!  Oh  God  !"  idinok.il  the  Lad'  '.nestina,  falling  up- 
Ofi  hor  knees,  and  raining  her  clanped  b^ndi,  irdon,  holy  Monk,  this 

weaknoBs,  but  in  your  charat'ter  of  coiin's^or  1  icvual  to  you  my  inmost 
Boul — I  have  taught  myself  to  Iovp  that  wanior  wit!  ^  lote  not  inferior 
to  that  I  bear  my  lord.  My  secoiu!  nif  was  his  Had  you  boon  he — 
and  such  I  ever  deemed  he  wiis — then  ...id  my  happinesg  [teen  complete, 
even  though  a  thousand  Jerusalems  had  fallen'' 

The  Monk  rose — he  paced  the  room — and  witii  an  air  of  agitation  that 
caused  the  Baroness  to  apprehend  she  had  done  wrong  in  avowing  the 
secret  of  her  feelings  to  one  wlio  seemod  desirous  of  creating  an  equal 
interest  in  her  bosom.    The  conflict  of  her  emotions  was  severe. 

"  Tell  me  again,"  he  almost  whispered,  so  low  yet  clear  was  the  tone 
in  which  he  spoke :  "  Repeat  to  me,  that  had  I  been  Abdallah  your  soul 
would  have  been  my  own.  That  you  would  have  had  him  to  resemble 
me !"  • 

'  ''  Oh!  ask  me  not,  holy  father,  what  I  would  have  done.  It  is  enough 
that  you  know  I  love  him,  and  that  I  have  always  fancied  him  the 
noble  and  majestic  Monk,  which  it  were  vain  to  deny  you  are." 

"In  Palestine  we  have  passed  for  twins,"  returned  Gonzales.  "So 
much  resembling  tliat  our  brethren  in  arms  have  scarce  distinguished." 

"Ah!  but  you  are  not  Abdallah,"  sighed  the  Baroness;  "you  are  not 
the  same  valiant  Monk-Knight  who  stole  into  my  heart  through  oil-re- 
peated saving  of  my  husband's  life,  whose  battle  cry  in  war  of  late  has 
ever  been  my  name.  Yes!  yes,  holy  father,  with  a  strong  love  I  loved 
him!" 

'•  Well  have  you  been  informed,  noble  lady,  It  is  not  for  a  brothet 
monk  to  wrest  one  feather  from  the  plume  of  merit  that  adorns  Abdal- 
lah's  memory.  In  feats  of  war  be  had  no  equal,  wliile  the  prowess  of  his 
gigantic  arm  was  the  admiration  and  the  wonder  of  all  who  witnessed  it. 
lu  the  great  battle  of  Tiberias  his  war-cry  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight, 
and  side  to  side  with  the  noble  Baron,  your  husband,  was  "  the  Lady 
Ernestina,"  and  not  until  vast  numbers  had  overpowered  him,  was  he 
compelled  to  yield  himself  up  a  prisoner." 

'■  Ha !  can  you  then  wonder,"  said  the  beautiful  wife  of  de  Boiscourt, 
as  the  tears  coursed  slowly  down  her  cheeks,  "  that  such  a  man,  sinful 
though  the  weakness  of  my  heart  was,  should  command  my  warmest 
love  and  gratitude?  Hear  me,  Gonzales,  while  I  confess  it.  Had  you 
used  deceit ;  had  you  come  to  me  as  Abdallah,  the  bearer  of  a  message 
from  my  lord  in  Palestine,  and  wooing  to  your  love.  I  should  exult- 
Ingly  have  fallen.  I  feel  no  remorse — no  shame  in  avowing  this,  for 
■well  am  I  convinced  that  the  generous  de  Boiscourt  would  approve  rather 
than  condemn.  Holy  father,  you  have  now  my  secret,  which  no  mem- 
ber of  the  Church  may  venture  to  betray.'' 

"  One  word  more,"  asked  Gonza'as,  as  he  threw  upon  her  an  expres- 


116 


THE    MONK    KNlliHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


m 


f 


\i( 


aion  of  such  anxious  love,  that  iti  her  inmost  heart  she  wished  she  had 
not  divulged  his  name.  "  What  would  be  your  choice,  were  it  possible 
to  bring  Abdallah  to  your  arms  this  night?    The  Baron  or  the  Monk?" 

"The  Monk  !  said  you.  Oh  !  tortura  me  not  with  the  vain  thought ! 
Make  me  not  say  that  which  shows  inferior  passion  for  my  noble  husband." 

"  And  what,  dear  Lady  Ernestina.  should  he  my  own  reward  ?"' 

"  I  cannot  name  it  to  you,"  replied  the  Baroness,  after  a  short  pause, 
and  with  a  crimson  brow.     "  You  must  imagine  it." 

"  All  !  that  I  had  the  power  to  raise  the  dead,  dear  lady,"  and  Gonzales 
knelt  at  her  feet  and  pressed  her  knees  :  "  can  you  not  teach  your  love 
so  to  impress  my  image  on  your  heart,  that  you  may  in  me  bestow  your 
sweetness  on  Abdallah?" 

"  Never,  never  ! — hope  it  not,"  she  returned  ;  '•  I  should  know  it  was  not 
Abdallah,  and  no  spuciousness  could  impose  the  cheat  upon  me.  Yet 
CLiuld  you,  by  art  of  necromancy,  remove  the  warrior  of  the  past,  and 
make  rae  see  in  you  the  noble  Monk-Knight  of  my  love,  and  him 
alone,  you  should  not  even  now  be  without  the  price  of  your  great 
power,  or  go  unrewarded  hence  to  the  presence  of  fhy  lord." 

"  Ernesti4ia !  oh  glorious  Ernestina !  you  will  destroy  me,"  fiercely 
uttered  Gonzales,  while  his  brow  and  countenance  were  strangely  serene. 
'■  But  to  my  message,  incomparable  woman.  Should  I  longer  tarry  to 
Kiaddeu  on  your  beauty,  not  your  husband  but  Abdallah,  forced  upon  you 
in  myself,  shall  break  the  seal  of  widowhood  this  night.'' 

"  Proceed  then,"'  said  the  Lady  Ernestina,  not  quite  comprehending 
him,  and  in  a  voice  broken  by  emotion.  "  The  night,  as  you  say,  wanes, 
and  fain  would  I  press  once  again  my  loving  lord  to  my  aching  bostm." 

"  You  must  know  then,  lady,  that  the  Baron  is  here,  a  sort  of  truant 
from  the  post  of  honor  and  of  duty.  He  was  severely  wounded,  and 
numbered  among  the  slain  at  the  battle  of  Tiberias,  but  contrived  in  the 
night  of  that  fearful  day  to  creep  away  unseen  by  the  fatigued  and  care- 
less watching  Saracens.  Long  he  wandered  until  he  met  with  one,  who 
also  had  escaped  by  miracle  from  that  blood-stained  field.  Soon  we 
learned  the  fate  of  Abdallah,  who  had  suffered  after  his  brother  knights, 
by  the  command  of  Saladin.  Weakened  from  loss  of  blood,  disheartened, 
miserable  at  the  death  of  the  friend  of  his  love,  and  most  of  all,  longing 
to  behold  and  press  once  more  to  his  heart  his  beloved  wife,  the  Baron 
resolved  to  avail  himself  of  the  report  prevailing  in  the  Christian  camp 
that  he  had  been  slain,  and  return  to  his  chateau  in  Auvergne — there  to 
remain  a  few  days — returning  thence  to  the  war  in  Palestine.  To  favor 
his  disguise  he,  too,  adopted  at  my  instance  the  monkish  dress.  In  a 
word,  we  reached  the  neighborhood  of  the  chateau  this  morning  at  early 
dawn,  and  he  despatched  me  here  to  apprise  you  of  his  comi^ig  ;  the 
whole  must  be  kept  secret  from  every  other  human  being,  the  maiden 
Henriette  excepted.  He  waits  for  my  return,  to  glad  him  with  the  re- 
port of  your  well-being,  and  to  assure  him  that  in  utter  darkness  he  will 
be  admitted  to  your  chamber,  and  there  kept  concealed  until  we  both  8»t 
out  again  for  Palestine."  .  ,;  ■■  »■         "    '     - 

I- 


"  l^ipiJK^*' 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT   OF    ST.    JOHN. 


117 


"Oh  !  glad  tidings,  even  of  so  brief  a  joy  !"  exclaimed  the  Lady  Er- 
nestina  with  animation,  "  Quick,  my  loved  husband,  to  this  impatient 
bosom.  Holy  Gonzales,  if  love  I  cannot  yield  in  sweet  return  for  this, 
all  the  warm  feelingof  a  grateful  heart  at  least  is  yourswithout  reserve," 
and  then  she  warmly  pressed  his  hand. 

"  When  next  we  meet,  we  shall  meet  in  Paradisie,''  returned  Gonzales, 
in  a  tone  that  betrayed  deep  emotion,  and  yet  with  unruffled  expression  of 
countenance. 

"  Do  holy  monks  and  erring  women  meet  within  the  mansions  of 
the  blest  ?''  queried  the  Lady  Ernestina,  half  smilingly,  as  she  rose 
to  ring  the  bell  for  Henriette  to  conduct  Gonzales  out.  "  I  fear  me  I  am 
too  great  a  sinner  in  the  nature  of  the  love  I  bear  Abdallah  to  hope  for 
entrance  or  for  mercy  there.    Holy  father,  you  will  pray  for  me !" 

She  stood  before  him,  rich  in  all  the  loveliness  of  her  perfect  grace, 
the  outline  of  her  figure  admirably  developed  by  the  dress  she  wore,  and 
the  elegance  of  her  contour  almost  dazzled  the  sight — hei  eyes  half 
dimmed  with  a  voluptuous  languor,  insensibly  induced  by  the  nature  of 
her  recent  conversation  with  the  Monk,  seemed  to  invite  to  tenderness, 
while  the  gentle  heaving  of  her  dazzlingly  white  and  rounded  bosom  told 
all  the  deep  agitation  of  her  excited  soul.  Her  gaze  was  fixed  upon  the 
face  of  Gonzales,  seemingly  as  if  she  would  have  impressed  upon  her 
memory  the  image  of  Abdallah,  and  such  became  at  length  the  intensity 
of  her  regard,  that  her  lips  unconsciously  parted,  disclosing  in  the  act  the 
moist  and  pearl-like  teeth  which  contrasted  ravishingly  with  the  coral  of 
her  balmy  lips.  All  this  Gonzales  embraced  at  a  glance,  but  most  his 
eye  dwelt  upon  her  magnificent  hair,  the  very  length  and  redundancy  of 
which  seemed  to  give  her  a  wickedness  of  thought,  a  determination  of 
purpose,  which,  more  than  all  that  host  of  charms,  acted  like  fire  upon 
his  brain.  It  seemed  to  him  to  impart  a  character,  a  fixedness  of  will 
to  her  retiring  womanhood,  that  in  the  very  contrast  of  its  strength  with 
all  else  feminine,  subdued  the  soul  with  astonishment  and  surpassing 
wonder. 

"Adored  woman,"  said  the  Monk,  catching  her  in  his  firm  embrace, 
and  enfolding  her  warmly  to  his  heart ;  "  1  have  heard  of  beauty  made 
to  madden  and  enslave,  to  stir  each  wanton  pulse  to  sin,  but  never  could 
have  fancied  such  transcendent  charms  as  yours.  Would  that  I  were 
Abdallah  in  Auvergne.  Pardon  me  the  bold  assertion,"  he  added,  "but 
you  will  think  this  night,  even  in  your  husband's  arms,  that  Gonzales  in 
the  semblance  of  Abdallah  will  possess  you  yet." 

"Nay,  Sir  Monk,  "she  answered  with  gentle  reproach,  you  impose 
upon  the  secret  I  have  revealed  to  you.  Neither  such  act  nor  language 
can  become  the  friend  of  the  noble  Baron  de  Boiscourt.  I  will  not  call  it 
insult,  for  such  I  know  is  not  intended,  but  still  it  is  advantage  taken  of 
the  weakness  I  have  confessed.  Do  not !  do  not  1  entreat  you,  I  implore 
you !     Let  me  respect  my  husband's  friend  !" 

"  Love,  angel,  goddess  !  nay,  more  than  all  these  !  voluptuous  soul-se- 
ducing and  gentle  woman,"  murmured  Gonzales,  with  every  pulse  beat- 


118 


THE    MONK   KNIGHT   OK   ST.    JOHN. 


ing  violently,  and  yet  with  seemingly  uuexcited  manner,  "  mark  well 
my  words ;  you  love  me  not,  because  I  am  not  Abdaliah,  and  yet  the 
love  of  your  husband  this  night  shall  infuse  such  passion  into  your  soul, 
that,  ere  to-morrow's  sun  shall  set,  you  will  pray  my  coming  to  your  de- 
siring arms,  as  even  now  you  pray  for  your  Abdullah.  To-morrow  you 
will  be  mine — not  one  of  all  these  soul-entrancing  beauties,  but  shall  be 
mine,  and,  wholly  mine.  Then  come  what  may,  the  man  you  spurn  even 
now  shall  be  pressed  to  your  leaping  heart  in  all  the  intensity  of  the  love 
of  which  you  are  so  capable." 

"Nay,  hope  it  not,  presumptuous  and  too  confident  Monk.  Abdaliah 
dead  can  leave  no  substitute,  however  much  resembling,  for  living  not 
himself,  the  reflection  of  himself  were  but  a  cheating  shadow.  My 
noble  lord  alone  is  now  my  all  in  life." 

"  I  have  said  it  lady,  and  yet  I  urge  no  more  to  shake  the  image  of 
Abdaliah  from  the  throne  it  occupies.  But  another  duty  waits  my  poor 
performance.  Even  now  I  go  to  bring  to  your  chaste  arms  your  noble 
husband.  You  will  not  deem  it  so,  but  remember  I  have  said  it.  The 
love  I  bear  to  you,  you  shall  quickly  share." 

'•'Never,  never !''  she  answered  with  emphasis,  "  shall  the  Monk  Gon- 
zales find  a  place  within  my  heart.  Surely  you  do  not  take  the  Baroness 
de  Boiscourt  for  a  wanton,  that  she  should  change  her  lover  as  her  glove. 
If  I  have  felt  for  Abdaliah  strong  preference,  it  was  the  holiness  of  gra- 
titude for  his  many  services  to  my  noble  spouse.  It  has  not  been 
the  mere  love  a  woman  bears  to  man,  but  that  of  an  idolatress  to  the  god 
of  her  mind's  creation,  and  yet  I  have  arrayed  him  in  human  attributes 
faultless  as  your  own." 

'•  Then,  why  not  deem  me  him  !"  passionately  returned  Gonzales,  as 
he  knelt  before  her  and  pressed  her  robe  to  his  lips.  "  Not  now  I  ask  it, 
but  later,  when  grief  for  the  lost  one  shall  have  grown  dull,  and  the  still 
loved  image  retains  all  its  undiminished  power  over  your  soul." 

"  Nay,  nay,  Gonzales,  rise  ;  it  is  in  vain  you  plead  your  hopeless  cause. 
What  of  my  heart  my  dear  and  much-loved  lord  hath  not  is  buried 
with  Abdaliah,  and  naught  shall  render  me  unfaichful  to  his  memory. 
Yet  think  not,  Gonzales,  that  I  hate  you  for  the  love  you  bear  me,  for 
though  a  monk,  you  are  still  a  man,  with  the  strong  passions  of  a  man, 
and  she  were  less  than  woman  who  did  not  glory  in  the  power  to 
merge  the  former  in  the  latter.  Go  then,  there  is  my  hand — we  part  in 
peace,  friendship  if  you  will  it.  Conduct  my  noble  lord.  Tell  him  that 
Henriette  shall  in  darkness  lead  him  to  the  well-known  nuptial  cham- 
ber." 

'•  One  thing  I  had  foFgotten,"  interrupted  the  Monk.     "  He,  moreover, 
wishes,  dear  lady,  that  with  the  dawn  no  light  shall  be  seen  in  the  cha- 
teau— not  even  to  guide  him  to  the  bridal  bed,  nor  must  a  menial  know 
of  his  return." 
"  And  why  this  great  precaution,"  asked  the  Lady  Ernestina.  '  i 

"  The  mass  of  curious  loiterers,  who,  seeing  lights  within  the  castle  at 
that  late  hoar,  might  seek  to  know  the  cause,  and  thus  mayhap  lead  to 


THE    MONK   KNIGHT    OF   ST.    JOHN. 


119 


the  knowledge  of  his  presence  here,  vrhen  duty  enjoins  that  he  should 
be  in  Palestine." 

"  Tell  my  dear  lord,  Gonzales,  that  his  slightest  wish  shall  be  obeyed, 
answered  the  Baroness.  "  At  the  private  entrance  near  the  armory 
Henriette  will  wait  for  his  approach,  and  straightway  lead  him  thither. 
Holy  monk,  farewell !" 

"  Heaven  and  its  angels  guard  you  in  all  happiness  !"  returned  the 
Monk  impressively,  imprinting  a  kiss  upon  the  hand  he  still  retained. 

The  Lady  Ernestina  replied  not,  but  taking  up  the  small  silver  bell, 
opened  the  door  of  the  apartment  which  communicated  with  the  spaci- 
ous corridor,  and  rang  it  gently. 

"Henriette,  my  love,"  she  said,  as  the  sweet  girl  made  her  appear- 
ance, "  conduct  the  holy  father,  Gonzales,  hence,  and  use  all  caution  that 
none  of  the  sleeping  household  be  disturbed.  That  done,  return  to  me, 
for  I  have  further  need  of  service,  which  duly  I  will  impart.  Again, 
holy  Monk,  I  thank  you  for  the  tidings  you  have  borne  of  the  health,  and 
safety,  and  loving  impatience  of  my  lord." 

Gonzales  threw  upon  her  a  look  of  doep  meaning,  and  then  having  re- 
sumed his  mask,  followed  the  gentle  Henriette,  who  led  him  by  the  hand 
throughout  the  darkness,  until  they  had  gained  the  door  indicated,  near  the 
armory,  opening  upon  the  spacious  garden. 

"  Within  the  hour,"  said  the  Monk,  as  he  departed ;  "  he  who  is  to 
lie  within  your  mistress'  arms  this  night  will  bear  him  gladly  to  this 
portal  unto  heaven.  Fail  not,  sweet  Henriette,  to  undo  the  door  and 
guide  him  to  all  happiness. — Good  night." 

"  Henriette,  my  love,"  said  the  Baroness,  when  the  former  had  again 
ascended  to  her  room  :  "what  think  you  was  the  message  brought  to  me 
by  that  holy  monk  ?" 

"Nay,  lady,  he  strangely  spoke  of  one  who  was  to  lie  within  your 
arms  this  night." 

"  Even  so.  You  will  rejoice  with  me,  Henriette,  even  when  I  tell 
you,  my  child.     My  loved  lord  has  returned  from  Palestine." 

"  My  lord  returned  !    How  can  this  be,  dear  lady  ?" 

"  Impatient  with  his  eager  love,  he  stole  away  under  cover  of  a  report  that 
he  had  been  slain  in  battle,  A  few  short  days  he  tarries  in  secresy,  and 
then  returning  to  the  Holy  Land,  sustained  by  interchange  of  mutual 
lore,  will  join  the  Christian  camp  as  one  just  freed  from  the  bondage  of 
the  Turk.     And  now,  sweet  pet,  prepare  me  for  the  bridal  feast." 


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120  TBf:   NQNK   KNIGHT   OF    ST.    iOJOii. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

Again,  and  with  the  same  careful  hand  ascribed  to  her  on  a  former 
occasion,  did  the  gentle  Henriette  peirform  the  pleasing  task  of  unrobing 
the  charms  of  her  beautiful  friend  and  mistress.  It  has  already  been 
shown  that  she  almost  idolized  the  Lady  Ernestina.  There  was  a  depth 
of  passion  in  the  very  act  now  which  had  not  then  been  awakened,  for 
the  young  girl  knew,  as  she  gazed  upon  each  chastely  swelling  and  vol- 
uptuous beauty,  wherefore  they  were  thus  unveiled,  and  what  agony  of 
bliss  they  were  to  bring  to  tlie  soul  of  him  to  whom  they  were  to  be 
given.  Her  heart  beat  with  emotion,  for  the  joy  of  her  mistress  was  her 
joy.  The  same  pains  were  taken  to  loosen  the  wavy  tresses  of  her 

hair,  securing  their  fulness  only  with  a  single  fold  of  ribbon,  which  suf- 
fered them  to  descend  in  all  their  gorgeous  length.  But  there  was  no 
time  now  to  lose  in  worship  of  her  glorious  perfection.  The  night 
waned.  She  led  the  glowing  Ernestina  to  the  nuptial  bed,  rejoicing,  yet 
trembling  even  as  when  five  years  before  she  first  had  known  the  charm 
of  wedded  and  confiding  love,  and  then  imprinting  on  her  fragrant  lips 
a  kiss  that  expressed  the  fulness  of  her  soul,  descended  to  fulfil  her  mis- 
sion. 

No  gleam  of  light  was  there  within  that  chamber  dedicate  to  love. 
All  was  deepest  gloom ;  and  as  the  Lady  Ernestina  pressed  the  snow- 
white  sheets  which  reposed  against  her  polished  limbs,  deep  thoughts 
were  in  her  mind,  strong  images  before  her  eyes.  Her  bosom  heaved 
with  that  dear  and  fond  expectancy  that  ever  fills  the  matron's  loving 
heart,  when  after  long  absence  she  awaits  the  certain  coming  of  her 
lord  ;  and  her  lips  half  parted,  as  if  she  already  felt  upon  them  the  mois- 
tened kiss  that  sends  its  deep  vibration  to  the  soul.  Warm  feelings  sway- 
ed, but  not  oppressed  her  frame.  They  were  of  so  subdued  a  character 
that  she  rather  languished  under  them  than  felt  excitement.  Her  strange 
conversation  with  the  monk  Gonzales — the  boldness  of  the  passion  he 
had  expressed  to  her — ^his  likeness  to  Abdallah — his  confident  declara- 
tion that  he  would  yet  make  her  love  Abdallah  in  himself — all  these 
things  had  tended  to  produce  so  confused  a  traiA  of  thought,  that  the 
only  one  point  on  which  she  could  rest  with  certainty  was,  that  in  a  few 
short  minutes  she  would  press  to  her  beating  heart  her  long  desired  lord 
and  husband,  and  that  their  new  marriage  would  be  consummated. 

Steps  were  now  heard  cautiously  approaching.  The  heart  of  the  Lady 
Ernestina  beat  violently,  for  she  heard  the  door  of  the  ante-chamber  open, 
and  soon  the  footsteps  were  on  the  threshold  of  her  own  sanctuary. 

"This  way,  my  lord,"  whispered  Henriette;  "this  is  the  chamber, 
and  according  to  you.  directions,  gloomy  enough.  You  may  feel  the 
Lady  Ernestina  even  as  you  have  felt  me  in  aaceiiding,  but  I  think  I  can 
defy  you  to  see  her.  Good  night,  my  lord.  I  shall  keep  watch  until 
dawn,  and  then  apprise  you." 


THE  MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


121 


Presently  the  door  of  the  antechamber  waa  again  opened  and  closed. 

What  pen  shall  venture  to  describe  with  any  thing  approaching  to 
fidelity,  the  warm,  the  impassioned  feelings  of  a  tender  and  all-confiding 
woman  who,  after  years  of  separation,  presses  once  more  to  her  throbbing 
bosom  the  adored  husband  who  first  awakened  there  those  tender 
feelings,  divest  of  which  her  sex  were  but  a  name.  Not  meretricious  love 
can  render  this — not  the  cold  and  hackneyed  seemingness  of  the  wanton 
whom  desire  would  ennoble  even  in  her  fall — not  the  dissembling  virtue 
of  the  cold  and  prudent  wife,  which  inspires  disgust  on  the  one  hand,  and 
on  the  other  chills  passion  in  its  bud — neither  of  these  can  afford  the 
most  remote  idea  of  the  truthfulness  of  desire  such  as  it  ought  to  be — 
such  as  it  could  be  made  to  exist  between  those  of  ardent  soul,  whom 
the  church  has  united.  As  there  is  no  pleasure  so  sweet  as  that  which 
is  enjoyed  without  remorse,  and  without  a  fear,  so  is  there  greater  rap- 
ture to  be  found  in  the  arms  of  a  wife,  whose  every  thought  and  wish, 
however  extravagant  the  promptings  of  her  nature,  is  her  husband's,  than 
in  the  possession  of  a  host  of  mistresses,  were  they  multiplied  as  those  of 
Mahomet  himself.  But  the  bond  of  confidence  must  exist,  gentle  as  a 
silken  cord,  and  yet  strong  as  a  band  of  iron — it  must  unite  heart  to 
heart,  or  it  is  nothing. 

Were  the  secret  of  happiness  in  the  wedded  state  properly  understood 
— were  there  more  liberality  on  the  part  of  him  who  arrogantly,  but 
falsely  deems  himself  the  first  of  creation,  how  different  would  be  the 
condition  of  the  human  race.  They  who  now  pine  away  their  lives  in 
regret  for  the  chain  they  cannot  break,  and  in  dread  of  the  bugbear  they 
themselves  have  raised  up,  wouM  then  only  entertain  the  fear  lest 
some  untoward  cause  should  le.  \o  a  disunion  threatening  annihilation 
to  their  hopes  of  happiness  for  ever.  As  it  is,  what  are  women  ?  Slaves, 
literally  the  slaves  of  men,  and  regarded  principally  because  they  are  ne- 
cessary to  their  own  selfish  ends.  Few  is  the  number  of  those,  among 
the  millions  of  the  earth,  who  love  woman  for  herself  alone — the 
perfection  of  God's  will,  made  manifest  in  her  surpassing  beauty,  and 
who  are  willing  to  make  all  sacrifice  of  self,  that  not  a  wish  of  her  soul 
should  remain  ungratified.  No  man  better  appreciated  the  worth  and 
excellence  of  woman  than  the  celebrated  poet,  who  has  shown,  that  nine- 
tenths  of  mankind  only  look  upon  the  sex  as  like  beasts  of  burden, 

"  To  laekle  fooli  and  chroniole  imall  b«er." 

Never  was  the  sentiment  of  love  more  profound,  more  thrilling  in  its 
development  than  that  which  now  bound  the  heart  of  the  Lady  Ernestioa 
to  that  of  him  to  whom  she  had  offered  up  her  soul.  From  the  first  mo- 
ment of  their  being  alone,  he  had  whispered  an  injunction  of  silence. 
Her  heart  was  too  full,  her  happiness  too  complete  to  desire  to  waste  it- 
self in  words ;  and,  therefore,  she  found  it  no  effort  to  obey,  but  while 
speech  was  prohibited,  the  caresses  they  exchanged  told  more  than 
speech  could  the  strong  excitement  of  their  feelings.  Never  had  the 
Lady  Ernestina  been  so  suffused  with  tenderness — never  had  her  full 
heart  so  glowed  with  adoration  of  her  husband.     The  early  dawn  stdl 


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« 


122 


THE    MONK    KNrGHT    OF   ST.    JOHN. 


found  them  fast  locked  in  each  other's  arms,  and.  in  despite  of  herself 
she  broke  the  silence  but  in  a  whisp«r. 

"Loved  de  Boiscourt,'"  and  she  pressed  him  fervently  to  her  heart 
"adored  husband!  Lord  of  my  soul  !  Oh!  grant  the  prayer  of  your 
Ernestina — leave  me  not  again  to  return  to  Palestine  !  Let  love,  thus 
sweet  renewed,  drive  from  your  noble  heart  all  fruitless  thought  of  war. 
What  boots  your  presence  now — Jerusalem  is  lost  ?  Ah  I  go  not,  I  pray, 
to  share  the  fate  of  him — that  dear,  that  noble  Monk-Knight,  whom  you 
had  taught  my  heart  even  more  than  half  to  love,  that  sorrow  for  hia  fate 
alone  should  be  the  fruit.  Nay,  nay,  dear  lord,  overwhelm  me  not  with 
a  double  grief.  I  ill  can  bear  but  one.  Yet,  holy  virgin,  what  means 
this  ?  You  are  not  my  lord.  Those  features  are  not  his.  Ha  !  traitor, 
you  are  the  monk  Gonzales.  By  my  faith,  wken  my  lord  arrives  he  shall 
know  this  outrage  !" 

What  a  revulsion  of  feeling.  Almost  quicker  than  thought,  the  love  of 
the  Lady  Ernestina  was  succeeded  by  scorn  and  indignant  hatred.  She 
felt  humiliated,  crushed  even  as  one  who  could  never  rise  again. 

'  Stay,  stay  one  moment,  stay  I  Hear  and  forgive  me,"  said  the  Monk, 
as  she  struggled  to  free  herself  from  his  embrace.  "  Oh,  he»r  me  !  you 
whom  my  soul  adores — you  who  have  confessed  how  exceeding  is  your 
love  for  me.  If  I  am  not  your  noble  husband,  and  my  much-lamented 
friend,  I  am  not  the  more  Gonzales.  My  wife,  my  matchless  wife,  whose 
love  is  paradise,  believe  me  when  I  swear  that  I  am  Abdallah  !" 

The  Baroness  started — she  attempted  to  read  his  features  in  the  gloom, 
but  in  vain.  Doubt,  uncertainty,  agitation^  mingled  hope  and  fear,  in 
turn  assailed  her.  Her  every  sense  was  tossed  ^ven  as  a  bark  upon  a 
troubled  sea  without  a  helm  to  guide  her.  At  length  she  said,  with  much 
emotion — 

"  Nay,  then.  'Gonzales,  seek  not  to  guile  me  with  these  words,  as  base 
as  the  heart  that  uses  them  for  its  vile  purpose.  Did  you  not  tell  me 
tliat  you  so  resembled  the  noble  knight  Abdallah  that  none,  the  most  in- 
timate, could  distinguish  you?" 

"  Dearest  Lady  Ernestina,  that  I  have,  for  the  first  time  in  a  life  of 
forty  years,  employed  deceit,  I  blush  to  own.  It  was  ignoble,  unworthy 
of  my  rectitude,  and  yet  the  love  I  bear  you  was  the  prompter.  I  wish- 
ed to  try  your  feelings  for  me  before  I  ventured  to  avow  myself — nor 
this  alone.  I  sought  to  cheat  you  into  one  more  embrace  in  the  arms 
of  your  beloved  lord,  and  Abdallah's  sainted  friend.  Alas  !  you  weep — 
you  believe  me  now.  That  noble  hero — ^that  generous-hearted  friend 
lies  cold  beneath  the  surface  of  that  soil  from  which  I  have  returned, 
forsaking  war  and  the  holy  church  for  ever,  to  supply  his  place  in  your 
exceeding  love." 

"  Ah  !  can  such  ''omfort !  such  happiness,  then  be  left  to  me  ?"  ex- 
claimed the  Lady  Ernestina,  sobbing  amid  the  tears  that  coursed  rapid- 
ly down  her  cheeks  at  the  thought  of  the  death  of  her  beloved  husband. 
"  Forgive  me,  if  I  have  done  you  wrong  ;  but  if,  '  .deed,  you  are  Abdal- 
lah, which  now  I  scarcely  dare  to  doubt,  there  iu  one  mark  you  bear  w\\[ 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OK    ST.    JOHN. 


123 


•  dissipate  all  uncertainty.  II"  you  are  he  who  now  reigns  sole  master  of 
my  heart,  you  have  a  scar  upon  your  left  brow,  left  by  a,  Turkish  scime- 
ter,  aimed  at  poor  de  Boiscourt's  life." 

"  Behold  it,  my  own  loved  Eriiestina,"  said  the  Monk,  pointing  with 
his  left  forefingor  to  a  spot  just  above  the  eye-brow. 

She  raised  hnr  head,  eagerly  examined,  but  could  see  nothing  of  the 
kind.  Her  renewed  tears  expressed  her  disappointment,  and  yet,  strong 
in  the  conviction  that  she  was  not  deceived,  she  now  pillowed  her  head 
upon  the  ample  chest  of  him  who  had  declared  himself  as  having  left 
Palestine  lor  her  arms  for  ever. 

'•  Nay,  the  day  is  not  sufficiently  dawned,"  returned  the  Monk,  as  throw- 
ing an  arm  round  her  symmetrical  and  yielding  waist,  he  enfolded  her  al- 
most fiercely  to  his  throbbing  breast. 

In  a  few  minutes  she  looked  again.  '*  Ah !  I  see  it  now,''  she  ex- 
claimed, flushed  and  excited  by  the  certainty  of  her  own  happiness. 
*'  Dear,  dear  Abilallah !  noble  Monk  whom  I  have  so  long  loved  with  a 
heart-consuming  love,  how  strangely  do  I  feel.  Regret,  deep  sorrow  for 
my  dear  de  Boiscourt,  who  has,  however,  long  prepared  me  for  the  blow. 
Joy — supreme  joy  that  yau  are  now  mine  for  ever.  Poor,  lost  Alfred. 
Let  us  both  pray  for  him — let  us  consecrate  the  mostgenerousfeelings  of  our 
80\ils  to  his  memory.  Yes,  Abdallah,  if  saints  are  permitted  to  watch  over 
those  they  have  loved  upon  this  earth,  even  does  he,  whom  we  so  lament, 
watch  over  and  smile  upon  his  Ernestina  and  Abdallah." 

"  He  does,"  returned  the  Monk-Knight,  sadly.  "  The  realization  of  his 
stronp  desire  that  I  should  press  to  my  maddened  heart  the  cherished  object 
of  his  love,  left  pining  in  her  grief,  was  ever  such,  that  his  troubled  spirit 
could  not  rest  in  peace  unless  he  witnessed  it." 

''  Ah  !  Abdallah,  how  often  in  imagination  have  I  painted  this  my  union 
with  your  noble  self.  Yes,  most  holy  husband,  for  such,  indeed,  I  now  re- 
gard you  :  how  often,  in  the  dead  of  night,  has  my  lone  fancy  called  up  the 
same  image  that  appeared  before  me  first  as  the  monk  Gonzales.  I  have 
worshipped  and  hoped." 

••  Angel  of  surpassing  beauty  !  wife  of  my  impassioned  soul  I"  he  re- 
turned with  a  calmness  of  tone  strangely  in  contrast  with  his  glowing  words, 
'■  bless  you  for  the  avowal  you  have  made — hear  my  own. 

"  Even  such  was  the  fire  enkindled  in  my  soul,  by  the  Baron's  warm  paint- 
inff  of  your  surpassing  tenderness  and  beauty,  that  I  believe  I  should  have  gone 
mad,  had  I  not  been  sustained  by  the  half  hope,  half  fear— fear,  because  it 
involved  the  death  of  my  noble  friend — that  I  should  yet  press  to  my  heart 
her,  for  whom  it  yearned  even  unto  sickness." 

The  Lady  Ernestina  replied  not,  but  she  pressed  him  more  closely  to  her 
heart,  and  covered  his  strong  chest  with  kisses  from  her  moist  and  fragrant 
lips. 

The  day  had  now  fairly  dawned.  The  Monk-Knight  rested  on  his  elbow, 
and,  raising  his  hand,  gazed  on  the  blue  and  half-shrinking  eyes  of  tiie  Lady 
Ernestina,  with  an  expression  of  such  holy  benignity  and  tenderness,  that 
she  lay  as  one  fascinated  by  more  than  human  power. 

"  It  was  on  the  night  of  the  last  day  of  the  great  battle  of  Tiberius,"  he 


i 


'  i 


I 


114 


THE   MONK    KNIGHT   OF   ST.    JOHN. 


.'.I 


% 

m 


continued,  in  the  same  calm,  low  tone,  "  that  as  I  sat  a  pi'i80H»il[the  tent 
which  Saladin  had  assigned  to  me,  1  thought  of  you  until  JfeTMSraiili^  waa 
maddened  with  hope.  Wherever  I  looked,  whichever  wray  fln||MM,  I  saw 
but  the  vision  of  yourself,  wooing  me  to  your  arms.  Thir'gMVtKBto  of  ex- 
citement was  tu  me  insupportable,  andl  groaned  in  anguish  o/i»djptfeed  de- 
sire to  behold  you.  I  had  put  out  my  light.  It  was  past  i\\«fmti^t  hour, 
and  yet  I  could  not  rest ;  my  blood  was  on  fire,  for  knowing  ^C'  poor  de 
Boiscourt  had  fallen,  I  looked  upon  you  as  my  wedded  wife,  wpoM  charms 
were  to  my  soul  as  the  joys  of  Paradise.  Judge  my  surprise,  vhenltaddenly 
1  saw  a  light  reflected  through  my  own  tent  from  one  I  had  not  hitherto  no- 
ticed, yet  which  stood  but  a  few  paces  from  me.  That  light  xevealed  the 
figure  of  a  woman  of  perfect  symmetry  of  form,  in  the  act  of  unrpbing.  I 
will  not  dwell  upon  particulars.  You  may  suppose  that  I  stoppet)  not  to 
consider  if  her  f;ice  corresponded  with  the  perfection  of  outline  of  her  body. 
With  the  exception  of  her  tunic  she  was  now  wholly  undressed.  I  stole  out 
of  my  own  tent ;  I  entered  hers.  She  was  in  the  act  of  ^i^inguishing 
the  light,  but  I  had  time  enough  to  see  that  she  was  as  perfect. ip  feature  as 
she  was  in  form,  i  caught  her  in  my  arms.  She  was  mine.  Oh  !  Ernes- 
tina,  then,  for  the  first  time,  my  soul  knew  the  nature  of  the  burning  love 
with  which  it  was  filled  for  you,  and  frantically  on  her  bosom  I  invoked 
your  name." 

"And  who  was  she?''  tremblingly  and  rapturously  inquiirad^e  j^ady 
Ernestina,  while  she  covered  the  Monk-Knight's  lips  with  kisaM^ 

"  It  was  my  first  lesson  in  God's  holy  mystery  of  love,"  sajd  ,4N^ll^h; 
clenching  his  teeth  at  the  recollection.  "  But  ah !  she  whom  I  gossessed 
was  my  own  sister." 

"'Vour  sister!"  exclaimed  the  shuddering  Lady  Ernestina,  Pyo^Diqe 
by  her  emotion,  her  heart  beat  tumultuously.  ,    t^  ^  ^    . 

"  Yes  !  my  own  sister  !  but  there  is  a  step.  At  another  and  mo)W  fit- 
ting moment,  love,  I  will  tell  you  all." 

"  It  is  Henriette,"  murmured  the  Lady  Ernestina.  "  She  comes' to  ap- 
prise you  that  it  is  dawn." 

"  Even  so,  my  lady,"  returned  the  girl,  the  shadow  of  whose  figure  now 
obscured  the  doorway.  "  The  day,  my  lord,  is  breaking  fast,  and  I  am  here 
to  take  your  orders." 

"Rather  take  my  orders,"  said  the  Lady  Ernestina,  rallying;  "  com» 
hither,  child." 

"  What,  my  Lady  9nd  my  Lord  not  risen  !  Fie,  fie  !  1  should  die  with 
shame." 

"  Rather  would  you  die  of  sorrow,  were  it  otherwise,"  playfully  returned 
her  mistress.     "  Come  closer,  dear." 

"  Oh !  dear  me,  what  will  become  of  us?  Not  my  noble  master — not  the 
Lord  de  Boiscourt,  but  that  handsome  monk  that  so  flurried  me  yesterday. 
Nay,  nay,  my  Lady,  how  could  you  be  so  wicked?" 

"Wicked — child!"  said  the  blushing  Lady  Ernestina;  "call  you  it 
wicked  to  spread  the  nuptial  feast  before  the  husband  of  our  love  ?  Alas ! 
Henriette,  poor  Alfred  has  been  dead  many  months  :  he  has  fallen  in  Pales- 
tine.    This,  sweetest,  is  Abdallah,  him  of  whom  we  nightly  spoke." 


THE   MONK    KNIGHT   OF    ST.    JOHN. 


125 


Henriette  turned  pale,  fell  sick  at  heart,  and  burst  into  a  paroxysm  of 
tears,  for,  in  truth,  she  loved  the  noble  and  generous-hearted  de  Boiscourt. 

"  Nay,  my  poor  Henriette,  weep  on.  I  could  weep  too,  but  my  heart  is  so 
full  of  other  thoughts  and  other  feelings,  that  I  have  not  time  tu  weep. 
Sorrow  is  checked  by  joy.  When  we  are  alone,  and  apart  from  this  exceed- 
ing happiness,  we  will  mingle  streams  of  tears  together  ;  and  now,  dear 
Henriette,"  she  continued,  enfolding  the  sweet  girl  to  her  heart,  ••  you  must 
prepare  the  morning  meal  even  with  your  own  hands,  in  the  small  room 
that  adjoins  the  confessional.  There  we  shall  be  safe  from  all  interruption. 
What  seems  mysterious  to  you,  1  will  explain  later.  At  present,  in  every- 
thing but  form,  1  am  again  a  loving  wife,  but  it  must  not  be  known  in  the 
chateau  that  the  holy  father,  the  second  husband  of  my  adoration,  has  lain 
within  these  arms,  until  the  Church  hath  set  its  seal  upon  our  mutual  love." 

"  Sweet  Lady,  you  shall  be  obeyed,"  said  Henriette,  seized  with  sudden 
passion  at  her  noble  mistress's  happiness,  and  pressing  her  bosom  fondly  to 
her  own,  "  The  meal  shall  bo  prepared,  even  as  you  desire,  in  secresy  and 
abundance — succulent  food  and  rare  wines  will  best  comport  with  your  appe- 
tites I  take  it,  and  these  shall  not  be  wanting" — and  waving  her  hand  grace- 
fully to  Abdallah  she  withdrew." 

'*  You  forget,  adored  Eniestina,"  said  the  Monk,  when  they  were  alone, 
and  in  a  calm,  yet  rich  and  thrilling  tone,  "  that  only  yet  you  have  pos- 
sessed de  Boiscourt,  but  now  that  the  darkness  favors  not  the  cheat — now  that 
the  soft  blush  of  day  enables  the  fascinated  eye  to  gaze  upon  that  surpass- 
ing beauty  which  has  hitherto  been  rather  imagined  than  known,  be  in  all 
the  &weet  abandon  of  your  glowing   soul,  my   wife — not  the   noble    and 

high-minded  de  Boiscourt's   wife — but  the   wife  of  Abdallah of  him — 

the  holy  monk,  whose  chastity,  with  only  one  exception,  has  never  known  a 
woman  but  yourself." 

"  Oh  God !  my  husband,"  murmured  the  Baroness,  as  their  hearts  throbbed 
audibly  against  each  other,  "  your  Emestina — your  fond,  your  devoted 
wife  is  yours,  and  yours  alone  for  ever." 

When,  two  hours  later,  the  Lady  Ernestina  took  her  seat  at  the  breakfast- 
table  in  the  elegant  robe-de-chambre,  in  which  the  provoking  Henriette,  deeply 
sympathizing  in  her  joy,  had  only  half  shadowed  her  beauty,  she  was  very 
pale — two  small  spots  of  hectic  alone  being  visible  on  her  cheelis,  while  her 
long  dreamy  and  languishing  eyes  were  only  half  seen  below  the  drooping 
lids.  The  Monk-Knight,  on  whose  arm  she  entered  the  room,  and  who  wore 
a  large  crucifix  of  iron  suspended  from  his  neck,  was  pale  also,  but  no- 
thing could  exceed  the  dignity  and  imposing  grace  of  his  carriage,  while  on 
his  noble  brow  could  be  seen  traced,  as  with  the  impress  of  a  divine  power, 
that  mingled  expression  of  calm  benevolence,  goodness,  gentleness,  and  ab- 
sence of  excitement,  for  which  his  features  always  were  so  remarkable. 

Henriette — the  dark-haired,  and  usually  pensive  Henriette — who  presided 
at  the  breakfast-table,  declared  with  a  significant  smile,  that  they  both  looked 
fatigued  as  two  penitents  who  had  passed  the  night  in  the  adjoining  confes- 
sional ;  and  while  pouring  out  a  cup  of  coffee  for  her  mistress,  strongly  re- 
commended to  the  Monk-Knight  a  goblet  of  the  best  old  Burgundy  within 


I 


126 


THK.    MONK    KNUiHT    (iK    ST.    JOHN. 


the  oliuteau,  a  bottle  ut  which  bIic  liad  taki-ii  care  to  pruvide,  and  which  was 
there  sparkling  before  them. 

But  the  Monk-Knight  and  the  Lady  Erncstina  were  so  absorlwd  in  tiieir 
passion  for  each  other,  their  earnest  gaze  so  devoured  the  soul  that  lingered 
in  the  eyes  of  each,  that  it  was  long  before  either  could  be  made  sfu-sible, 
through  the  grosser  appetite  of  their  nature,  that  they  really  rt'iiuiii'd  ilie 
nourishment  the  gentle  and  considerate  ilenriette  sought  to  force  upon 
them. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 


I 


m 


8 


Who  shall  say,  that  where  there  is  true  love,  possession  ever  palls  upon 
the  appetite,  or  that  passion,  originally  strong,  is  not  increased  by  intimacy 
with  its  object'  No;  the  superficial  in  feeling — the  weak  in  intellect — the 
mere  impulsive  animal  may  feel  thus — but  the  educated,  the  refined,  the  deli- 
cate, the  loving  man  clings  to  the  wife  of  his  adoration,  as  a  devotee 
clings  to  his  saint.  She  is,  as  it  were,  his  god — his  divinity — the  beii\!z  to 
whom  he  offers  up  the  idolatry  of  his  soul.  He  lives  only  in  her,  and  for 
her.  His  heart  softens,  his  eyes  overflow  with  tenderness.  A  slave  only 
to  the  burning  desire  he  entertains,  to  devise  new  and  unheard-of  pleasures 
for  her  whom  he  adores,  he  racks  his  memory  and  imagination  to  invent 
them.  He  kneels  at  the  feet  of  her  he  loves — he  feels  that  it  is  a  duty  which 
he  owes  not  only  to  herself  but  to  his  God,  to  cherish  and  protect  her  weak- 
ness. In  his  eyes  she  is  without  a  fault :  her  feebleness,  her  delicacy,  are 
what  compose  her  strength.  She  is  to  him  a  thing  so  lovely,  so  perfect,  that 
she  scarcely  seems  to  him  formed  of  the  same  gross  material  with  himself. 
He  can  only  wonder  that  the  great  God  of  the  universe  shoul;\  liuve  conde- 
scended to  bestow  upon  him  one  who  might  be  deemed  more  fit  i  .i  to  consort 
with  angels. 

Such  are  the  feelings  of  the  man  who  sincerely  loves.  True,  it  must  be  the 
love  of  the  educated  and  strong  in  mind  for  the  beautiful ;  but  it  is  to  be  as- 
sumed that  all  women  capable  of  inspiring  love  as  a  mystery,  are  beautiful 
In  such  event  it  is  unfair,  unjust,  to  charge  the  nature  of  man  with  incon- 
stancy. Not  woman  herself  is  more  devoted  or  more  true,  and  so  far  from 
proving  faithless  to  her  who  is  really  gifted  with  Circean  yet  intellectual 
power  to  enchain  the  soul,  he  thinks,  and  acts,  and  feels  as  if  there  was  no 
other  object  in  the  creation  but  the  enchanting,  the  beautiful,  the  soul- 
seducing  partner  of  his  happiness. 

Thus  it  was  with  Abdallah  and  the  Lady  Ernestina.  With  each  succeed- 
ing day,  their  passion  grew  more  intense  from  fruition.  They  had  been 
privately  married  on  the  evening  of  the  day  following  that  of  Abdallah's  ar- 
rival from  Palestine,  the  rites  having  been  performed  in  the  confessional  of 
the  chateau,  and  by  the  venerable  Bishop  of  Clermont.  The  very  act  of 
marriage  had  increased  the  passionate  character  of  their  attachment.  They 
were  seldom  asunder — the  same  air — the  same  presence  was  necessary  to 


THK    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    >T.    JOHN. 


147 


them  both,  ko  iiiiirh  hu,  that  the  tender  Henrieite,  with  heavy  heart  and  tear- 
ful eye,  coiniiliiined  to  the  iiiiatreits  she  adored,  scarcely  lees  than  the  Munk- 
Kriiyht  did,  that  Hht;  no  longer  tiuw  noticed,  or  seemed  to  return  htir  alfec- 
tion.  The  Haronesx  eoviired  her  wiih  caresses,  promised  to  devote  more 
time  to  her  youn)^  favorite,  l)nt  the  power  of  Aliflalhih  over  her  soul  was  too 
great — the  pledj^e  was  ever  broken. 

Six  months  had  passed  in  this  manner ;  the  whole  nei^hborliood  of  the 
chateau  rejjfarded  as  somethinj?  marvellous  the  daily-increasing  attachment 
of  the  [jady  Krnestina  for  the  majestic  and  powerful  Monk,  who,  it  was 
whispered,  was  still  a  member  of  the  Holy  (!hurch.  Some  even  went 
so  far  as  f(»  assert  that  he  had  had  dealings  witli  Satan  while  in  the  land  of 
the  Infidel,  and  had  brought  with  him  a  charm  which  had  exercised  such 
power  over  her  heart,  that  she  had  literally  become  his  slave,  having  no  joy 
but  in  his  presence,  and  the  contemplation  of  features,  to  which  liad  been 
given  by  the  Evil  One,  a  power  of  fascination,  that  no  woman  could  with- 
stand. How  else,  they  argued,  could  one  so  young — so  retiring  in  her 
manner — nay,  so  noted  for  her  strict  morality  and  attention  to  religious  ob- 
servances, espouse  a  renegade  from  the  purity  of  the  Church,  and  withal,  of  an 
age  80  much  more  mature  than  her  own.  All  agreed  that  their  constancy, 
their  devotion  to  each  other  was  the  result  of  some  hidden  inttuencc  of  a 
superhuman  kind  ;  for  amid  the  general  looseness  of  manner  of  the  times, 
strong  attachments  of  this  nature  were  looked  upon  rather  as  spells,  than 
as  principles  of  right  implanted  in  the  human  heart. 

Six  months  had  passed.  The  exciting  fulness  of  the  Lady  Ernestina's 
round  figure  became  yet  fuller  still.  She  carried  proudly  beneath  her  heart 
the  fruit  of  the  strong  love  she  bore  to  the  Monk-Knight,  who  still  retained 
his  name,  while  she  was  yet  known  and  addressed  as  the  Baroness  de  Bois- 
court.  It  had  been  a  nmtual  arrangement  between  themselves,  the  better  to 
provoke  the  keenness  of  their  excitement.  Both  loved  the  unseen  child  ;  not 
because  they  believed  it  to  be  their  own,  but  because  each  ascribed  it  to  the 
other. 

It  was  a  beautiful  evening  in  spring.  The  trees  had  put  on  their  summer 
foliage.  The  meadows  were  green  and  redolent  with  sweetness.  The  air 
was  balmy — the  sky  serene,  and  the  forest  around  them,  alive  with  notes  of 
many  birds  telling  their  mutual  tale  of  love.  The  Monk-Knight  and  his 
adored  Lady  Ernestina,  his  heaven-bestowed  wife,  siit  upon  the  shaded 
margin  of  the  brook  which  meandered  thro\igh  the  grounds,  and  to  the  sur- 
face of  which  many  varicolored  fishes  rose  in  pursuit  of  the  fly,  that, 
(mconscious  of  its  danger,  skimmed  the  surface — thus  breaking  its  mirror- 
like smoothness,  and  covering  it  with  innumerable  circular  ripples.  They 
sat  beneath  an  expansive  oak,  which  tliffew  .,d  shadow  far  around,  and  tem- 
pered the  warm  atmosphere  with  its  vastness.  The  sloping  bank  on  which 
they  sat  was  covered  with  sweet  verdure  even  to  the  water's  edge. 

The  left  arm  of  Abdallah  was  thrown  around  the  waist  of  his  beloved. 
Her  left  hand  was  in  his  right.  Their  gaze  was  mutually  fixed  on  each 
other— their  hearts  throbbed — their  breathing  was  deep — their  love  was 
stronger  far  than  in  the  first  days  of  their  union. 

"  Mother  of  my  child— oh,  what  a  world  of  deep  and  divine  thought  is 


128 


THE    MONK    KNtOHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


cttmprist'd  in  tllo^^o  fi'w  words" — iiuirinnrfil  tin-  Monk-Kiui{lit,  o;ilmly,  ynt 
with  niiirkfd  iiitoiialinn,  :is  he  ruined  Ins  rasciriiitinK  (jlaiiri'  rniiii  lur  iwcllmg 
fi)rm  to  till'  loriff  lashed  Itliie  eye,  that  now  fired  anil  now  dissolved  in  tender- 
wi'^n  bciiealli  his  jja/.i'.  "  Can  this  he  real,  or  have  I  dreamed  it  all  !  ( ^an 
it  he  iiosHJhle  that  you  indeed  are  mine — that  I  have,  in  truth,  drank  iiitu  my 
(ill!  soul  the  intoxication  of  your  more  than  earthly  beauty — that  beauty, 
whieh  ill  my  Imurs  of  solitude  in  J'alestine,  ajipeared  to  me  afar  otV  as  an 
cmaiiatiiin  from  (iod — unapproaehahln  in  its  frorj^eousnesM,' and  its  loveliness' 
Oh!  this  is  too  mueh,  I  shall  die.  I  feel  myself  sinking'  beneath  this 
niiiiiily  weiiflil  of  happiness. — Possession  does  not  sati.sfy  me — it  maddens  ; 
but  the  ilesiro  remains  stronijer  than  ever,  i  drink  of  the  overnowinjT  cup, 
but  my  thirst  is  never  quenched.  'I'he  more  I  taste  of  the  sweet  joys  which 
emanate  from  my  heaven-born  wife,  the  more  self-annihilating  are  my 
desires  for  them.  Ah  !  holy  and  adored  one,  my  love  for  you  is  destroying 
me," — and  he  wept. 

"  .\bdallah,  dear  and  superhuman  Abdallah — my  lord,  my  life,  my 
husband — even  as  you  feel,  so  does  your  Krnestina  feel.  Touch  there,"  she 
continued,  wildly,  as  she  placed  his  hand  tipon  her  throbbinjj  bosom — the 
niadnefs  of  love  seeking  love  is  there  also.  Yes,  not  even  the  devoted  ardor 
of  your  <j;real  atlection  ever  can  quench  the  fire  that  rages  in  this  bosom  for 
you,  and  you  alone.  I  would  be  a  part  of  yourself,  identified,  infused  into 
the  holy  father  of  my  child,  and  because  1  cannot  reach  this  keen  acme  of 
my  happiness,  that  happiness  ia  incomplete."  She  threw  her  arms  around 
liis  muscular  neck,  and  joined  her  tears  to  his. 

Ah,  with  what  madness  each  pressed  the  other  to  the  bounding,  aching 
heart.  Ardent  as  was  their  love,  so  was  their  embrace.  The  Lady  Ernes- 
tina  glued  her  lips  to  his — she  inhaled  his  breath.  Her  eye,  usually 
so  soft  in  expression,  looked  into  his  with  a  wild  fire,  which  carried  intensest 
tumult  to  the  Monk-Knight's  heart.  One  glance  at  the  swelling  shape  that 
overwhelmed  his  soul  with  unutterable  thought,  and  again  the  beauteous  and 
sobbing  Ernestina  was  all  his  own.  Such  love  as  theirs  could  only  come 
from  God. 

So  full  was  the  intoxication  of  their  souls — so  absorbing  was  their  mu- 
tual love,  that  they  heard  not  the  rustling  of  the  leaves  and  the  twigs  of  the 
forest,  which,  extending  to  the  margin  of  the  brook,  afforded  them  its  tem- 
porary shelter,  until  a  piercing  cry  from  the  lips  of  the  Lady  Ernestina,  and 
a  sense  of  sharp  and  suii  Inn  pain  from  Abdallah,  told  them  they  were  not 
,'iione.  Quickly  the  Monk-Knight  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  confronted  a  itiaii 
wearing  a  pilgrim's  dress,  of  Moorish  complexion,  who  had  evidently  aimed 
the  blow  just  received,  for  he  held  tightly  grasped  in  his  hand  a  poignard, 
which  was  red  and  dripping  with  blood.  Uttering  a  piercing  scream  the  Lady 
Ernestina  rose  also,  and  with  bared  bosom  and  disordered  hair,  threw  herself 
between  the  Monk-Knight  and  his  assailant,  clasping  and  uplifting  her  hands 
at  fir  ^ame  time,  and  praying  the  latter  to  take  her  life,  if  he  so  wished,  but 
to  spai  •  that  of  him  who  was  dearer  to  her  soul  than  heaven. 

The  stranger  gazed  long  and  anxiously  upon  that  interposing  form.  He 
seemed  alingetliLr  ui  !iave  lost  sight  of  his  victim  in  the  contemplation  of  the 
singular  attitude  of  the  lady,  for  at    each   moment  her    agitation  b-^came 


}H 


i  '.- 


jT-vari-i-sB 


THK   MONK    KNtOHT   OK   ST.    JOHN. 


129 


greater  ;  and  well  wa.i  the  appcaraone  of  the  Daronemi  calciiiatfd  to  attrao* 
attention.  Her  hair  loosely  floated  over  her  nhoulderH — her  oheek  wan 
fliu'hed — her  eye  lull  of  oxcitemcnt — her  manner  wild  with  alarmed  love. 
These,  with  the  full  exposure  of  her  white  blue  veined  and  nwelliiijy  bosom, 
and  the  commanding  <har;u>ter  given  to  hir  half-matured  pregnancy,  formed 
a  whole  well  calculated  to  arrest  the  eye  and  absorb  the  senses. 

**  Ha  !"  he  observed,  in  a  smothered  voice,  which  the  Haronew  thought 
sounded  familiar  to  lu-r  f-ar,  "  you  pray  for  your  paramour,  and  he  indeed 
were  a  devil  who  eould  rf^tuse  you."  Then  fallmg  on  one  knee,  and  raising 
his  clasped  hands,  he  adiled,  "  I  have  seen  all,  heard  all,  and  the  desire  of  my 
own  soul  for  you  has  infuaed  the  pangs  of  madness  into  my  veins.  To  possess 
you  is  to  inherit  eternal  happiness.  That  happiness  shall  be  mine — ay,  look 
not  indignant — I  repeat,  it  shall  be  mine.  The  child  of  hiin  whom  I  would 
have  slain,  but  spare  for  your  sake,  may  be  at  your  heart,  hut  not  the  less 
shall  you  be  mine.  I  go ;  the  hour  of  my  own  triumph  is  not  yet  come  : 
yet  expect  me." 

And  rising  and  casting  a  look  of  intense  hatred  upon  Abdallali,  who, 
strango  to  say,  attempted  not  to  interfere  with,  or  follow  in  pursuit  of,  the 
assassin,  ho  quickly  disappeared  in  the  forest  from  which  he  had  emerged. 

The  first  impulse  of  the  Monk  and  the  Lady  Ernestina,  when  left  alone, 
was  to  rush  into  each  other's  arms.  Their  souls  were  filled  to  overflowing 
with  renewed  thanks  to  Providence  that  the  blow  had  not  been  u  mortal  one, 
and  that  a  better  feeling  had  come  over  the  heart  of  him  who  had  not  re- 
peated it.  The  joy  of  the  Baroness  was  the  most  unmixed  with  apprehension 
for  the  future  because  there  was  less  apparent  cause.  She  mocked  at  the 
wild  threat  of  the  stranger,  even  as  she  had  lightly  treated  that  of  Gonzales, 
and  considered  it  but  an  idle  taunt,  springing  from  disappointment — in  whom 
she  was  wholly  at  a  loss  to  divine.  Her  concern  now  was  for  the  condition 
of  the  Monk-Knight,  whose  wound  she  straightway  examined.  The  poig- 
nard  had  passed  even  up  to  the  hilt  through  the  fleshy  part  of  the  body 
under  the  shoulder,  but  the  ribs  had  only  been  slightly  grazed.  A  good 
deal  of  blood  had  followed  the  withdrawal  of  the  weapon,  and  the  linen  of  the 
Monk  was  saturated.  Pale  and  anxious,  even  while  sensible  that  there  wa.s 
no  ground  for  serious  alarm,  the  Lady  Ernestina  insisted  on  hi&  having  the 
wound  instantly  dressed  by  her  own  hands,  and  accordingly  to  her  boudoir 
they  slowly  walked,  fllled  with  deeper  passion  for  each  other  than  any  they 
had  yet  entertained. 

Painful  thoughts — staggering  doubts,  were  mixed  up  in  the  heart  of  tha 
Monk-Knight,  as  he  pondered  on  the  scene  that  had  just  occurred.  The 
wound  inflicted  upon  him  affected  him  not.  He  was  rather  glad  that,  being 
so  imperfectly  done  as  to  fail  in  tearing  him  for  ever  from  the  arms  of  his 
beloved,  it  had  been  done.  At  a  single  blow  of  his  giant  arm  he  could  have 
struck  his  assailant  lifeless  to  the  ground,  despite  of  the  weapon  which  he  held 
dripping  with  his  blood,  and  such  was  the  course  he  had  first  meditated :  but 
as  he  keenly  glanced  into  the  eye  of  him,  who  in  his  turn  seemed  fascinated 
by  the  beauty  of  his  wife,  his  purpose  was  changed  almost  as  soon  as  formed, 
for  through  his  disguise  he  knew  the  man — one  long  known  to  him,  and  a 
hair  of  whose  head -he  would  not  have  injured  even  to  save  his  own  life.  For 


f\ 

I 

I  I 

't 
,1 

;♦,, 


.% 


■.*•' 


•» 


130 


THE   MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


the  first  time  since  his  union,  Abdallah  was  ill  at  ease.  The  first  bitter  had 
been  infused  into  his  cup  of  happiness.  One  secret  he  had  which  he  dared 
not  reveal  to  her  who  in  all  others  possessed  his  heart's  undivided  and  entire 
confidence.  The  necessity  for  concealment  rendered  him  unhappy,  for  it  ill 
suited  with  that  expansion  of  the  soul  which  made  the  mutual  interchange 
of  thought  nearly  as  rapid  as  thought  itself. 

Such  were  the  feelings  of  Abdallah  on  entering  the  chateau,  but  so  far 
from  causing  any  abatement  in  his  intense  passion  for  his  enchanting  wife, 
it  only  rendered  him  the  more  keenly  susceptible  of  its  influence.  Hitherto 
there  had  been  no  fear,  no  apprehension  of  his  losing  her,  but  on  that  score 
he  now  felt  not  the  same  security  which  the  Lady  Ernestina  had  expressed. 
There  was  a  possibility,  and  that  possibility  tore  his  heart  with  agony. 
Had  she  whom  he  so  passionately,  so  madly  loved,  lain  cold  at  his  side,  it 
would  have  been  joy  to  him  to  have  embraced  a  death,  which  would  have 
placed  their  bodies  even  in  the  tornb  near  each  other ;  but  to  know  that  she 
lived,  and  apart  from  him,  would  have  been  torture  of  the  deepest  kind.  To 
die  was  nothing,  when  her  love  was  wanting  to  give  value  to  life.  To  live, 
and  live  apart  from  her,  whose  soul  was  the  fountain  of  enduring  love,  and 
whose  frame  was  fashioned  to  speak  more  warmly  than  words  can  tell  the 
sweet  abandonment  of  desire,  were  to  entail  the  loss  of  reason  and  the  death 
of  joy.  Never  had  he  believed  it  possible  that  woman  could  obtain  such  ex- 
clusive worship  from  the  soul  of  man — never  had  he  so  rejoiced  that  God 
had  blessed  him  by  emancipating  his  mind  from  bondage,  and  bestowing  upon 
him  that  true  knowledge  of  human  happiness  which  he  had  acquired  by  his 
marriage  with  the  Lady  Ernestina. 

"  Who,  lord  of  my  heart,  could  have  been  your  cruel  and  unprovoked  assail- 
ant?" tenderly  inquired  the  Lady  Ernestina,  as  she  proceeded  to  remove  the 
blood,  and  apply  emollients  to  the  wounded  side.  "  I  should  have  deemed 
that  one  like  you  could  have  had  no  enemy  in  life — that  even  the  tiger  and 
the  panther,  so  far  from  seeking  to  injure  would  have  crouched  unharming 
at  the  aspect  of  that  noble  and  benignant  countenance." 

"  I  know  not,"  said  the  Knight-Monk,  enfolding  her  to  his  heart.  *'  True, 
I  had  no  enemy  on  earth — none,  surely,  have  I  willingly  offended,  thus  to  do 
me  wrong." 

The  reply  was  correct  as  to  fact,  but  it  was  evasive.  Abdallah  felt  it  to 
be  such,  and  he  was  humiliated  in  his  own  eyes.  It  was  only  the  consciousness 
that  he  had  spoken  thus  to  give  balm  to  the  idol  of  his  soul,  that  at  all  justi- 
fied him  to  himself. 

"  God  grant  that  no  evil  befall  you,"  sighed  the  Lady  Ernestina.  "  As 
for  myself,  fear  not.  No,  holy  Monk-Knight,  if  beauty,  indeed,  be  mine,  as 
your  great  partiality  so  deems,  that  beauty  shall  be  yours  alone.  The 
stranger  mentioned  that  I  should  yet  be  his.  Again,  fear  it  not.  I  never 
had  the  courageous  soul  to  dare,  yet  before  another  wantons  in  these  charms, 
which  love  holds  consecrate  to  you,  the  father  of  the  child  which  fills  me  with 
a  mother's  pride,  I  have  a  remedy  will  preserve  my  faith." 

"  Nay,  nay,  my  noble  Emostina,"  he  said  calmly,  yet  pressing  her  warmly 
to  his  heart,  "  fear  not  so  rude  a  trial.  Shall  I  not  be  for  ever  near  to  guard 


I"' 


W^( 


m. 


THK    MONK    KNIUHT    OF    ST.    JOHN, 


13t 


the  precious  casket  ol  my  lavish  love,  from  aught  that  could  sully  or  defame 
the  polished  mirror  of  its  beauty  1     Alas,  there  is  but  one — " 

".  One,  said  you,  Abdallah  ?  What  one?  Who  shall  hope  to  wed  with 
Ernestina,prho  acknowledges  but  one  absorbing  love  to  o.ei whelm  her  soul? 
No,  pardon  me,  shade  of  my  departed  Alfred,  but  to  faithfully  have  you 
done  your  glorious  work.  Hear  me,  Abdallah,"  she  pursued  tightly  grasp- 
ing his  hand,  "  were  it  possible  that  de  Boiscourt  should  ri<ie  from  the  dead 
and  woo  me  to  his  love  again, I  should  reject  him.  I  could  not  commit  the 
loathsome  infidelity.  My  very  soul  revolts  at  the  thought,  and  yet  deeply 
do  1  still  regard  him.  No  act  of  mine,"  and  as  she  spoke,  a  voluptuous 
languor  dimmed  her  closing  eye,  "  shall  ever  give  token  of  my  soul's  most 
deep  delight,  but  that  in  madness  ssliared  with  the  father  of  my  child — the 
first  of  men,  the  favorite  of  Heaven." 

"  How,  how,"  murmured  the  Monk-Knight,  looking  all  his  soul  through 
his  mild  eyes — "  how  shall  1  repay  this  great  devotion  of  your  love?" 

"  Oh  !  1  am  repaid  already,"  she  answered,  with  a  winning  and  a 
meaning  smile.  "  You  are  with  me,  and  I  am  happy — safe  from  the  assas- 
sin's knife — I  ask  no  more — since  that  I  cannot  enter  into  your  being,  and 
nestle  ever  near  your  heart." 

"  That  happiness  be  mine,  sweet  wife,"  said  the  Monk,  eagerly.  "  Ever 
blessed  be  that  heart  that,  all  confiding  and  impatient  now  opens  its  mine  of 
richest  treasure  to  receive  me." 

"  Yours,  for  ever  yours,"  she  faintly  sighed.  "  Ah  !  Abdallah,  dear  Ab- 
dallah— mighty  lord  of  your  Ernestina's  glowing  soul,  do  with  your  adoring 
slave  even  as  you  will." 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

A  FORTNIGHT  had  elapsed  since  the  attempt  to  assassinate  AbdalK^h,  and 
yet  nothing  had  transpired  to  throw  farther  light  on  the  mystery.  The 
superficial  wound  was  soon  closed,  and  all  fear  of  the  future  had  been 
utterly  banished  from  the  mind  of  the  Ijady  Ernestina.  Abdallah  thought 
much,  but  said  nothing  on  the  subject.  Meanwhile  the  cup  of  love  was 
overflowing  to  the  brim.  If  possible,  the  intensity  of  the  passion  which 
consumed  them,  even  in  the  fulness  of  its  gratification,  was  increased.  For 
hours  they  would  linger  in  each  other's  arms,  gazing  away  their  souls  through 
their  eyes,  and  looking  thoughts,  that  in  keenness  of  happiness  aie  rarely 
indeed  entertained  by  the  human  heart,  and  which  scorched  up  the  blood 
in  their  veins.  Then,  when  their  feelings  were  strung  to  the  highest 
pilch  of  admiration  and  love  for  each  other,  and  when  the  half  fierce,  half 
humid  eye  expressed  the  inextinguishable  fever  of  their  souls,  what  human 
pen  shall  paint  the  delicious  tumult  of  those  heaven-bestowed  raptures  which 
blended  them  in  one  mystic  identity,  and  drew  from  their  trembling  lips 
thanks  of  gratitude  to  the  beneficeut  God  of  all  nature,  for  having  given 
them  power  and  the  will  so  to  appreciate  his  blessings. 


"i 


I 


J 


'h 


: 


/■*, 
^■i' 


»  '1 


132 


vat;  MONK  KSKiur  ot  st.  john. 


Oh  !  how  they  lovei  each  other;  tiial  nobie  and  powerful  Monk-Knight, 
whose  strength  had  never  been  wasted  by  intemperance,  and  the  gentle, 
the  delicate,  and  the  gracefully  yielding  Lady  Ernestina.  Even  as  the  fair 
snow-white,  and  drooping  lily  clings  to,  and  breathes  its  swee*  upon  the 
vine-covered  trunk  of  the  tall,  dark,  gnarled  and  majestic  oak,  so  was  the 
fragrance  of  the  caressing  and  intertwining  wife  emitted  ia  sweet  abundance  on 
the  strong  and  muscular  trunk  of  the  husband  she  loved.  If  angels  had  sought 
the  most  radiant,  the  most  perfect  picture  of  happiness  i^on  earih,  that 
which  the  most  reminded  them  of  the  power  and  wisdom  and  goodness  of 
God,  they  would  have  found  it  here ;  for  neither  man  nor  angel,  in  the 
fullest  power  of  his  imagination,  could  have  conceived  anything  more  illus- 
trative of  the  ineffable  love  of  God  himself,  than  was  afforded  by  the  sight  of 
this  strong  man  and  delicate  woman,  wrapt  up  in  the  intensity  of  their  re- 
fined feelings  for  each  other. 

Their  passion  had  now  become  so  boundless — so  completely  were  their 
senses  steeped  in  the  all-absorbing  love,  which  placed  no  limit  to  its  indul- 
gence, that  their  appetites  failed  them,  and  the  common  rest  of  wearied 
nature  was  denied  to  them.  One  only  thought,  one  only  image,  one  only 
desire,  filled  their  souls — it  was  that  of  the  unceasing  interchange  of  their 
mutual  and  quenchless  affection,  which  circulated  keenly,  exquisitely,  sting- 
ingly  through  their  veins,  and  produced  an  excitement  that  never  slumbered. 

One  beautiful  morning,  after  having  partaken  of  a  slight  breakfast,  they 
sauntered  into  the  adjacent  grounds  and  forest,  passing  through  the  garden, 
perfumed  with  the  scent  of  innumerable  choice  flowers  on  their  way  to  them. 
One  arm  of  Abdallah  was  thrown  around  the  pliant  waist  of  the  Lady 
Ernestina,  while  his  right  hand  was  lowered  at  intervals  to  pluck  an  offering 
for  his  beloved.  At  the  farthest  extremity  of  the  ground,  and  just  within  the 
skirt  of  the  forest,  near  the  spot  where  Abdallah  had  received  his  wound, 
was  a  small  trellised  arbor,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  chateau,  and 
its  open  domain.  Perceiving  that  she  was  rather  fatigued  with  her  walk, 
which,  although  not  very  long,  had  been  more  than  sufliciently  so  for  one 
in  her  present  condition,  the  Monk-Knight  insisted  upon  her  entering  and 
seating  herself. 

The  interior  of  the  arbor  was  fitted  up  with  every  regard  to  luxurious 
repose.  It  was  hemmed  in  on  every  side  by  trees  whose  foliage  emitted  a 
fragrant  and  delicious  odor,  which  was  wafted  at  each  undulation  of  the 
branches,  and  formed  a  sanctuary  devoted  to  those  who  loved  to  luxuriate  in 
the  song  of  the  birds  that  peopled  the  forest  without,  or  to  watch  and  listen 
to  the  murmured  rippling  of  the  small  stream,  which,  it  has  already  been 
shown,  meandered  through  the  grounds,  and  was  occasionally  seen  from  the 
summer-house  as  the  sun's  rays  danced  over  its  silvery  surface.  The  floor 
was  covered  over  with  the  same  matting  that  ornamented  the  bed-chamber  ; 
while  easy  chairs,  and  chaises  longues,  and  a  couple  of  small  sofas,  or  rather 
settees,  very  narrow  and  elastic,  composed  the  chief  part  of  the  furniture. 
A  few  rudely  printed  books,  chiefly  works  on  theology,  and  the  events  wtiich 
had  been  enacted  in  Palestine,  filled  the  shelves  of  a  beautifully-carved  cabi- 
net of  black  ivory,  the  lower  part  of  which  contained  liaueurs,  and  wine*, 
anH  various  descriptions  of  cakes. 


THE    MONK    KMGHT    OF    "sT.    JOHN. 


133 


Hand  in  hand  Abdallah  and  the  Lady  Er.iestina  sat  on  one  of  these  low 
sofas,  drinking  into  their  souls  deep  draiitriits  of  love  from  each  other's 
eyes,  and  embalming  their  souls  in  the  overflowing  passion  that  consumed 
tiiem.  Soon  footsteps  were  heard  approaching  the  summer-house,  and  Ab- 
dallah rose  to  ascertain  who  thus  intruded  on  their  privacy.  It  was  one  of 
the  domestics  of  the  chateau,  who  had  come  to  announce,  on  the  report  of  the 
messenger  who  had  galloped  over,  a  desire  on  the  pan  of  the  Bishop  of 
Clermont,  that  he  should  come  to  him  immediately,  on  a  point  of  the  utmost 
importance.  The  emergency  seeming  so  great,  the  Monk-Knight  took  a  ten- 
der leave  of  his  beloved  wife,  whom  he  recommended  to  rest,  until  Henrietta, 
whom  he  promised  to  despatch  as  soon  as  he  reached  the  chateau,  should 
have  time  to  join  her. 

Left  to  herself  the  Lady  Ernestina  had  gradually  fallen  into  a  refreshing 
slumber,  when,  suddenly  aroused  by  the  opening  of  the  door,  she  looked  up, 
and  to  her  horror  and  astonishment,  beheld  the  very  man  who  had  so  recent- 
ly assaulted  her  husband.  With  an  air  of  impatience  he  closed  and  bolted 
the  door,  and  then  advancing  to  the  sofa,  on  which  she  sat,  threw  himself 
upon  his  knees  at  her  feet,  and  embraced  her  waist. 

The  first  act  of  the  Baroness  was  to  call  out  with  affright ;  the  next,  to 
push  with  all  her  strength  from  her  the  daring  intruder.  This  was  no  diffi- 
cult task  ;  for  no  sooner  did  he  perceive  the  look  of  loathing  with  which  he 
was  regarded,  than  he  drew  back  from  the  pressure  of  her  hands,  and  cover- 
ed his  face  with  his  palms. 

"  And  is  it  so,  then,  Ernestina  1"  he  said,  in  tones  of  deep  affliction  and 
sadness,  and  in  a  voice  too  familiar  not  to  be  recognized  now  ;  "  is  what  the 
whole  of  Auvergne  asserts  so  true?  Is  your  devotion  to  this  Monk-Knight 
Abdallah,  whom  my  soul  sickens  ever  to  have  known,  so  great  that  you  have 
not  eyes  to  penetrate  this  poor  disguise — to  recognize  the  once  deep  object  of 
your  love — him  who  has  so  adored  you  ;  who  even  now  so  adores  you — 
bearing  even  as  you  do  the  fruit  of  adulterous  love :"  and  he  glanced  mean- 
ingly at  her  altered  figure." 

But  the  Lady  Ernestina  heard  him  not  tp  the  end.  From  the  outset  of 
his  address  she  had  fainted  ;  for,  even  as  Abdallah  had  on  a  former  occa- 
sion, she  had  now  fully  penetrated  the  disguise  of  his  dark-stained  features, 
and  found  fullest  confirmation  in  the  rich,  sweet  tones  of  his  voice.  Awhile 
de  Boiscourt  gazed  fondly  upon  her,  and  he  almost  wished  her  dead,  but  the 
feeling  was  transient.  Other  thoughts  were  in  his  soul,  and  had  that  mo- 
mentary and  vague  wish  been  realized,  the  next  minute  would  he  have  been 
a  corpse  at  her  side.  He  chafed  her  temples  from  a  bottle  of  peifume  that 
lay  upon  an  adjoining  mosaic  table — he  rubbed  her  hands — he  called  her 
frantically  his  beloved  wife — his  own  Ernestina,  and  swore  eternal  worship 
and  devo\ion  to  her  every  wish. 

There  was  no  marked  emotion  of  joy  or  sorrow,  or  even  of  surprise,  when, 
at  length  recovering  from  the  shock  she  had  sustained,  the  Lady  Ernestina 
calmly  remarked,  as  she  allowed  him  to  take  her  passive  hand,  "  How  is  this, 
de  Boiscourt,  they  told  me  you  were  dead  !" 

"  Even  so  it  was  thought,"  he  replied,  deeply  wounded  at  the  coldness 
of  her  manner.     "I  lay  on  the  field  of  Tiberias  among  the  slain,    but  a 


ml 

Ml 


Pi 


,t 


I 


Imi 


■itM\ 


ih 


r:i 


'^. 


134 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OK    ST.    JOHN. 


guardian  angel,  in  the  form  of  an  Infidel  maiden,  while  roaming  the  field 
that  night  for  plunder  to  support  a  hungry  and  dying  father,  saw  me — suc- 
cored me — led  me  thence,  and  took  me  to  her  bosom,  lavish  with  much  love. 
A  month  I  tarried  in  the  tent  apart  from  the  camp  of  Saladin,  in  which  she 
lived  alone  with  the  father  who  died  on  the  next  day  after  my  arrival.  I 
wished  not  life :  my  whole  desire  was  death  to  ensure  your  happiness  with 
Abdallah.     But  Heaven  willed  it  not:  I  was  doomed  to  live.'' 

"Hal"  exclaimed  the  Baroness,  eagerly  interrupting  him;  "you  say 
you  sought  my  happiness  with  Abdalbh,  and  yet  you  came  to  slay  him  even 
in  my  arms — him  who  is  dearer  to  my  soul  than  life — whose  minion,  slave, 
I  am  in  love,  and  ever  shall  remain." 

"  Ernestina,  oh  Ernestina,  is  it  even  so  ?" 

"  Yes,  de  Boiscourt,  once  master  of  this  full  heart,  it  is  so  ;  and  my  deep- 
est blessing  on  you  for  having  made  it  so.  Our  love  for  five  long  years  was 
innocent  and  mild.  Such  it  would  have  continued,  had  not  yourself  awakened 
in  my  soul  such  sweet  yet  strong  desire  for  your  more  than  mortal  friend." 

"Friend  !"  groaned  the  Baron,  in  agony  of  spirit;  "  call  him  your  own 
paramour  ;  "  but  no,  no,  I  rave  :  he  is  still  my  friend  ;  the  lover  of  my  wife. 
He  shall  be  all,  everything  to  her." 

"He  shall!"  said  the  Lady  Ernestina,  with  marked  emphasis.  "But 
hear  me,  de  Boiscourt !"  she  slowly  whispered,  with  features  set  in  intensity 
of  excitement — "  so  well,  in  so  masterly  a  manner  did  you  instil  the  delicious 
poison  into  my  soul,  that  often,  in  the  dead  of  night,  panting,  shrieking, 
adoring  in  Henriette's  confiding  arms,  have  I  lain,  cheating  myself  into  the 
wild  belief  that  I  held  the  herculean  Monk-Knight,  whose  great  goodness 
you  so  truthfully  painted,  to  my  bounding  bosom,  and  gazed  my  soul  out 
through  my  eyes  dissolved  in  his.  Even  as  you  wished — implored  me — so  T 
acted." 

"  And  is  it  possible,"  exclaimed  the  unhappy  de  Boiscourt,  "  that  I  have 
done  all  this?" 

"  All,  all !"  replied  the  Lady  Ernestina.  "  Ah,  repent  it  not,  de  Bois- 
court; a  hundred  years  of  life  will  ill  suffice  to  pay  in  gratitude  my  soul's 
deep  thankfulness  for  the  consuming  bliss  you  have  bestowed  upon  me.  Yet 
wheVefore  is  it,"  she  continued,  resuming  her  original  coldness  of  manner, 
"  that  you  sought  the  litis  of  him  you  gave  me  with  your  own  free  will  1  In 
slaying  liim  you  would  have  slain  me — slain  his  child  !  Yes,  de  Boiscourt 
— hi?  child!     Oh,  think  of  that.     There  is  madness  in  it." 

"  Are  my  senses  leaving  me  1"  groaned  the  now  wretched,  once  gay  and 
generous  Knight.  "  Oh,  God !  this  is  too  much.  I  !ud  not  thought  of 
or  looked  for  this." 

"  Then  why,  if  so  careful  of  my  happiness,"  resumed  ihe  Baroness,  "  did 
you  seek  to  tear  from  my  wildly  clinging  heart  the  only  born  of  woman  who 
can  yield  me  happiness? — ay,  de  Boiscourt,"  and  she  convulsively  grasped 
his  arm  while  she  looked  coldly  in  his  face — "  him,  that  more  than  man.  who 
is  slowly  killing  me  with  his  intensity  ?  Wherefore  this,  I  ask  ?— .why  deny 
me  the  death  I  cr^tve  myself?" 

De  Boiscourt  sprang  to  his  feet.     He  paced  the  small  room  hurriedly— 


t^     f  . 


^J^.!."'     •^— ^^ "'I 


jL 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


135 


noadly,  and  yet  with  an  expression  of  deep  agony,  while  large  drops  of  sweat 
stood  forth  from  his  handsome  though  discolored  brow. 

"  Ah,  that  I  had  died  in  honor  upon  that  field  of  blood,  knowing  not  the 
hands  I  loved  so  soon  would  aim  this  dreadful  blow.  Heart,  heart,  foolish 
heart — break,  or  be  still !  Yes,  then  had  I  been  spared  a  torture  worse  than 
death :  and  yet,"  he  added,  more  composedly,  "  even  what  you  would  say  is 
true.  I  have  dug  the  grave  of  my  own  happiness.  Yet  hear  me,  beloved 
wife,  adored  Ernestina — yes,  still  adored,  still  beloved,  even  were  your  heart 
a  thousandfold  wedded  to  the  manly  virtues  of  Abdallah.  What  now  I 
speak  is  true  as  Holy  Writ.  When  I  wrote  to  you  as  I  did,  it  was  my 
strong  desire  that  the  Monk-Knight  should  revel  in  your  matchless  beauty  if 
that  I  fell  in  Palestine,  for  well  I  knew  such  love  as  that  you  now  avow 
would  fire  your  heart  to  madness.  He  himself  can  tell  how  much  I  wished 
it.  But  ah !  I  had  not  meant  this,  my  life,  preserved  by  Heaven.  That  life 
I  could  have  surrendered  up  to  God  who  gave  it,  but  never  could  I  resign  my 
right  to  you  while  hope  remained  to  me.  When  cured  of  my  wounds,"  he 
resumed,  after  a  pause,  "  the  Saracen  maiden,  while  weeping  tears  at  my 
departure  from  my  low  concealment,  led  me  on  to  Antioch,  which  I  reached 
in  restored  health  and  safety  from  the  enemy.  At  Antioch  I  tarried  many 
months,  not  knowing  that  Abdallah  had  left  his  brother  knights,  and  hasten- 
ed on  to  France.  At  length  a  rumor  reached  the  good  king  Louis,  whose 
lovely  consort — the  majestic  and  graceful  Elenora — had  at  my  first  arri- 
val sought  and  won  me  to  her  love ;  that  of  all  the  knights  who  had  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  Saladin  at  our  great  defeat,  one  only,  Abdallah,  the  Monk- 
Knight,  had  been  suffered  to  live,  and,  forsaking  t^cowl,  had  departed  for 
the  West." 

"  What  my  feelings  were,"  pursued  the  Baron,  "  you  well  may  under- 
stand. I  felt  that  I  had  ruined  myself  by  delay,  and  yet,  although  painfully 
assured  it  was  too  late,  instantly  started  in  this  poor  disguise,  breaking, 
without  regret,  the  spell  which  the  really  loving  Eleanora  had  thrown  around 
my  senses^  As  I  journeyed,  I  thought  unceasingly  of  you  and  of  Abdallah. 
I  saw  hio^our  husband — enjoying  all  a  husband's  rights  in  your  yielding 
arms,  and  my  soul  was  filled  ——' ' 

"  With  hatred,"  half  sneeringly,  interrupted  Lady  Ernestina ;  "Generous 
man." 

"  No,  not  with  hatred.  I  could  not  then  hate  the  man  I  once  had  loved. 
1  could  not  hate  him  of  whose  great  passion  I  felt  assured  already  you  had 
tasted,  and  on  whom  you  had  sweetly  lavished  all  your  own.  Hear  me, 
Ernestina,"  he  concluded,  seizing  her  hand  and  tenderly  pressing  it  to  his 
lips—"  the  longer  I  journeyed,  the  nearer  1  approached  Auvergne ;  my  regret 
at  my  delay  was  turned  into  rejoicing  ;  my  love  for  you  both — my  desire  to 
see  you  both  happy,  was  as  great  as  it  had  been  when  I  intended  that  my 
certain  death  should  be  the  condition  of  your  union.  All  I  desired  was  to 
be  fparod  to  be  a  second  in  that  love,  of  which  I  had  so  recently  been  the 
sole  possessor." 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  Lady  Ernestina,  with  sarcasm  ;  "  and  so,  in  order  to 
be  that  second,  you  had  nearly  destroyed  the  first.     This,  it  appears  to  me, 


1:)^ 


136 


THE   MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ^T.    JOHN. 


i8  somewhat  contradictory.  Perhaps  the  Baron  de  Boibcourl  will  be  good 
enough  to  explain." 

There  was  a  coolness,  a  calmness,  a  severity  of  satire  in  the  manner  in 
which  the  usually  gentle  Baroness  expressed  herself,  that  caused  the  unhappy 
Knight  to  gaze  upon  her  with  rising  tears,  and  with  deep  sorrow  at  his 
heart. 

"  These,"  he  resumed,  while  a  slight  frown  gathered  on  his  brow,  '•  were 
my  feelings  on  entering  Auvergne,  which  1  did  on  the  night  previous  to  my 
rash  attempt  upon  the  life  of  Abdallah.  No  sooner  had  I  entered  Clermont, 
when,  although  known  to  no  one  in  my  true  character  and  name,  my  ears 
rang  with  titterings  and  gibings,  and  wild  reports  of  tne  strange  love  that 
had  come,  over  the  heart  of  the  lovely  Baroness  de  Boiscourt  for  the  great 
Monk-Knight,  who  had  mysteriously  and  suddenly  appeared  from  Palestine 
— no  one  knew  how — and  whom  she  had  married  on  the  day  following  that 
which  brought  to  her  the  intelligence  of  her  husband's  death.  This,"  con- 
tinued de  Boiscourt,  "  I  confess,  annoyed  and  mortified  me,  not  because  it 
was  so,  but  because  the  prying  vulgar  should  have  been  afforded  the  oppor- 
tunity of  saying  it  was  so.  Still  your  fair  fame  was  even  deaier  to  me  than 
your  own.  Heaven  knows  that  I  would,  with  my  own  hands,  have  filled 
your  cup  of  happiness  to  the  brim,  but  I  would  have  had  no  other  to  know  it 
but  our  own  mystic  triunion.  Again  I  repented  me  of  my  long  delay,  for 
had  I  arrived  before  Abdallah — in  time  to  prevent  the  publicity  of  the  private 
marriage,  then  I  should  still,"  he  whispered,  in  conclusion,  "  have  been 
your  husband, — Abdallah,  the  chief  lord  of  your  changing  soul,  the  wild  and 
most  deserved  revellei.  in  the  beauty  I  had  taught  him  to  adore,  even  as  he 
now  does." 

The  glow  whieh  suddenly  animated  the  speaking  features  of  the  handsome 
and  imaginative  Knight,  and  which  was  strongly  visible  evev  beneath  the 
deep  dye  of  his  disguise,  as  he  then  expressed  himself,  called  up  correspond- 
ing feelings  in  the  heart,  and  a  hectic  tinge  on  the  cheek  of  the  Lady 
Ernestina. 

"  Had  you  done  this,  de  Boiscourt,"  she  said  emphatically,  and  speaking 
for  the  first  time,  with  animation,  "  had  you  preceded  Abdallah  to  the  nup- 
tial bed,  and  taught  my  heart  by  slow  experience  the  value  of  the  love  you 
had  provided  for  me,  this  could  and  should  have  been.  Then  duty  as  a  wife 
had  been  observed,  and  love  for  both  alternate  swayed  my  soul." 

"  And  why  not  now,  my  Ernestina?  Wherefore  the  change  1"  and  again 
kneeling  at  her  feet,  he  seized  and  pressed  her  hands  in  his. 

"  Hear  me,  de  Boiscourt,"  she  returned,  calmly.  "  When  first  Abdallah 
ravished  my  full  soul  with  his  exceeding  love,  it  was  in  the  dead  of  night. 
He  came  to  me  as  you.  He  filled  my  imagination  with  you.  Never  had  1 
loved  you  so  deeply,  so  fervently  My  wantonness  found  speech.  I  breathed 
into  his  ear,  thinking  it  was  you  I  addressed,  every  tender  and  sweetly 
voluptuous  word  which  you  so  well  had  taught  me  ;  and,  oh  !  the  effect. 
Methought  some  Eastern  sorcerer  had  sold  for  gold  some  priceless  love 
potion,  a  present  for  your  Ernestina.  That  then  i  loved  you  is  most  true, 
seeing  that  then  1  held  you  with  unabate'*  warmth  to  my  desiring  soul. 
Morning  dawned  ;  its  beams  fell  upon  a  Christ-lme  countenance — sweet,  holy, 


.f    li 


(  .1 

■  ♦  iis 

m 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


137 


caim,  benignant.  It  was  Abdallah  ;  who,  great  and  generous  to  your  me- 
inory — for  he  believed  you  dead — had  soiiplit  to  fill  once  more  the  bosom  of 
your  wife  with  sighs  of  rapture  for  yourself  alone.  The  change  was  instant. 
All  my  preceding  love  for  you  perished  in  its  bloom.  I  could  not  even  shed 
a  teai  .  liis  recital  of  your  fall  upon  that  bloody  field.  Nay,  shall  I  con- 
fess ?  T  rather  joyed  than  sorrowed  at  a  fate  that  kept  me  wholly  for  the 
strange  wild  love,  with  which,  new  to  my  soul,  that  holy  father  had  loved 
me — with  which,  even  now,  he  loves.  You  see  then,  de  Boiscourt,  how 
stands  my  heart.  I  could  not  be  false  to  him  even  if  my  sense  inclined. 
J  love  him  with  a  holy  love,  which  would  kill  me  with  despair,  as  after 
memory  of  guilt  with  you  reproached  me  with  the  profanation.'' 


w 


;lll 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

De  Boiscourt  had  listened  with  the  most  intense  interest  to  the  exciting 
confession  of  her,  who  despite  of  the  report  of  his  own  death,  and  her  con- 
sequent marriage  with  the  Monk-Knight,  he  still  regarded  as  his  wife.  More 
tenderly  than  ever  he  loved  her.  More  fiercely  he  desired  to  possess  her. 
Her  very  situation  added  to  his  passion. 

"  Be  your  soul  Abdallah's," — he  said  imploringly — "  love  him  as  you  will 
— make  him  lord  and  master  of  your  desires — but  oh  !  Ernestina,  surely  you 
will  not  forever  close  the  door  of  paradise  against  him  w*ho  has  so  often 
sipped  of  its  sweets,  and  worshipped  and  adored  all  that  is  within.  How  have 
I  sinned  against  yourself  that  I  should  be  thus  treated  and  expelled  from  the 
heaven  I  once  inhabited  ?  Let  me  but  share  your  love  with  the  holy  father 
of  your  child,  and  I  shall  be  content." 

I'he  bosom  of  the  Lady  Ernestina  rose  and  fell  perceptibly  ;  her  cheek 
was  flushed  with  the  wild  ideas  called  up  by  his  language  ;  her  dimmed  and 
half-closed  eye  told  all  the  excitement  of  her  soul. 

"  Hear  me,"  pursued  de  Boiscourt,  perceiving  that  she  was  moved  ;  "  no 
one  knows  of  my  arrival  as  the  lord  of  these  domains.  Nothing  therefore 
so  simple  aa  to  sink  my  name  and  title,  and  leave  Abdallah  in  undisturbed 
posset,  ion  as  your  lawful  husband,  rendered  such  by  my  decease.  I  will  pass 
as  a  member  of  your  household,  in  some  capacity  exempt  from  base,  dishonor- 
ing toil.  Oh  !  beloved  one,  consent  to  this,  and  my  love  for  you  will  not 
be  more  powerful  than  my  increased  friendship  for  Abdallah." 

"  Friendship  for  Abdallah  !"  said  the  Baroness,  once  more  resuming  her 
coldness  and  forbiddingness  of  manner.  "  Ah  !  I  had  forgotten.  You  have 
not  stated  why,  with  that  exceeding  love  for  him  and  me,  you  sought  his 
life.  Will  thf  Baron  de  Boiscourt  be  good  enough  t»  explain,  as  briefly  as 
he  can,  the  curious  association  of  love  and  hate  V 

"  I  have  already  stated,"  returned  the  young  Knight,  again  much  dis- 
couraged by  her  satire,  "  that  I  approached  with  sentiments  of  love  for 
you  both.     Alas  !  I  came  by  the  summer-house  ;  hearing  voices  I  stopped, 


I 


/ 

V 

% 

■^^^■< 

\mi 

m 

■u 

i 

vn 

'H 

y 

M: 

I 


138 


THE    MONK    KNIUHT    (K'    ST.    JOHN. 


for  they  sounikd  familiarly  to  tny  ear.  i  looked  tliruuijh  tiiu  trei's,  and  be- 
held— ah  !  what  a  sight ' — I  stood  transtix'^l  willi  such  coiifuaed  It'eliii!,'.^, 
as  never  yet  had  entered  in  my  breast.  Then  first  the  fiend  of  jralousy,  like 
the  lightning's  flash,  entered  in  my  soul.  1  could  have  killed  you  both,  even 
as  you  were,  so  sudden  was  my  hate ;  and  yet  I  checked  the  im|)ul8e,  iiut 
when  after  pressing  your  balmy  lips  with  wildest  ardor  to  his  own,  and  leav- 
ing there  the  deep  impress  of  their  sweets,  you  whispered  loud  enough  for 
me  to  hear  these  words,  which  ever  fired  the  languid  channel  of  our  veins, 
and  which,  when  murmured  by  yourself,  proclaim  the  absence  of  all  re- 
straining thought — when  to  this  was  added  the  sight  of  your  gracefully- 
swelling  form — my  jealousy  attained  such  pitch,  that  I,  who  had  come  to 
greet  and  love  him,  now  thirsted  for  his  blood  with  the  bitterness  of  hate. 
Hence,  the  blow  I  struck  him,  even  in  the  fulness  of  his  transcendant  passion. 
It  was  a  momentary  madness  which  induced  the  act.  Bitterly  have  1  since 
repented  it." 

"  It  was  the  result  of  your  first  knowledge  of  the  difference  which  exists 
between  theory  and  practice,"  said  the  Lady.Ernestina  calmly,  when  she 
had  heard  all. 

The  Baron  was  deeply  mortified,  b'or  a  moment  or  two,  he  covered  his 
eyes  with  his  palms.  At  length  he  remarked,  in  a  voice  in  which  chagrin 
and  disappointment  were  blended  : 

"  Ernestina,  what  I  have  done  in  regard  to  myself,  I  repent  not ;  I  only 
regret  the  outrage  committed  against  AbdaUah." 

"  Upon  him,"  said  the  Lady  Ernestin?  slowly,  and  with  sarcasm  ;  who 
has, I  believe,  preserved  your  life,  at  least  at  various  times." 

"  True,  there  was  a  period  when  you  regarded  this  in  a  rather  different 
light,"  said  the  Baron,  with  profound  sorrow  in  his  tone. 

"  There  was — I  loved  you  then.  Now,  I  scarcely  know  that  I  regard 
you.  You  have  altered  the  whole  current  of  my  life  and  thoughts.  I  am 
no  longer  the  wife  of  a  mortal — I  have  exchanged  him  who  was  my  husband 
for  one  who  is  only  second  to  a  god.  His  slave  I  am,  lk>dy  and  soul,  for 
ever." 

For  some  minutes  the  Baron  felt  too  disheartened  to  speak.  At  length  he 
said,  in  an  ill-assured  voice — "  But  Ernestina,  you  will  not  refuse  my  pro- 
posal :  you  will  not  reject  my  offer  ?  AbdaUah  shall  be  your  husband  still 
— the  master  of  this  wide  domain,  if  I  but  share  your  love  with  him. 
Recollect,  I  asked  not  the  same  extent  of  love.  That,  you  say,  is  wholly 
his.  Hear  me,  then,  dearest.  If  you  assent,  in  no  way  shall  I  act  to  set 
aside  your  unlawful  marriage  with  AbdaUah,  nor  will  it  be  known  to  any 
besides  ourselves,  that  de  Boiscourt  yet  lives.  The  Monk-Knight  may 
esteem  me  his  officer,  his  page,  anything  that  will  give  me  the  right,  in  being 
near  his  person,  to  approach  your  own." 

It  was  sometime  before  the  Lady  Ernestina  answered.  She  regarded  him 
earnestly,  then  said  seriously,  and  in  an  imposing  tone, "  Baron  de  Boiscourt, 
so  free  a  course  as  that  you  offer  may  be  approved  by  you,  but  not  by  me. 
Doubtless,  this  lesson  may  have  been  learned  in  Palestine,  where,  if  report 
speak  true,  all  women — Christian  as  well  as  Turk — are  so  depraved,  that 
each  has  a  lover  for  each  night,  or  it  may  be,  that  our  licentious  Queen,  who, 


t       -?i^ 


'■    %' 


THE    MONK    KNKtHT    OK    hT.     IOHN. 


139 


first  the  noblp  Conrad,  and  then  youraelf,  li;ui  taken  into  the  royal  bed  of 
Louis,  has  made  you  deem  me  wanton  ako,  and  wiUinfr  tliat  passion  alone 
should  be  iny  (riude  to  happiness  If  such  be  your  thought,  de  Boiscourt, 
you  have  judged  me  wrongfully.  Not  France,  in  all  its  length  and  breadth, 
can  show  a  heart  profouiider  in  its  mighty  depth  of  love,  but  as  its  depth  so 
is  its  constancy.  The  man  to  which  1  yield  my  love,  is  orily  second  to  my 
God.  Such  love  as  you  could  render  me  sufficed  for  all  my  heart  then  knew, 
nor  once  could  the  tempter — and  there  were  many  who  boldly  pressed  their 
suit — win  me  from  fidelity  in  your  absence,  to  the  love  I  bore  you.  Such 
^id  ever  been  that  love — such  would  have  been  my  sweet  contentment,  but  in 
a  ,  »vil  hour,  you  yourself  seduced  my  soul  from  its  allegiance,  drove  thence 
your  own  long-cherished  image,  and  filled  it  with  a  phantom,  which  imagi- 
nation moulded  into  such  life  and  strength,  and  beauty,  that  my  sick  soul 
languished  for  the  embodiment.  It  came  at  length,  and  under  your  own 
sanction.  From  that  hour  you  were  dead  to  me.  My  heart  was  tilled  to 
repletion.  I  could  not  wear  a  second  wooer  to  ray  heart — the  thought  to 
me  was  sacrilege.  It  would  have  destroyed  the  charm,  the  mystery  of  the 
fierce  passion  that  overwhelmed  our  souls.  Neither  could  offer  enough  to 
the  other.  With  constancy  like  mine,  then,  which  is  the  sweet  life  of  love, 
hope  not  ever  to  renew  the  rights  which  once  were  yours,  but  now,  sur- 
rendered by  you,  are  Abdallah's." 

"  Is  it  possible — uan  this  be  real!  do  you  then  reject  my  love,  Ernestinal" 

*'  De  Boiscourt,"  she  answered  calmly,  "  I  do  not  reject,  but  I  cannot  re- 
ceive. My  soul  revolts  at  the  very  thought.  Think  better  of  it.  Henriette 
loves  you,  and  well  do  I  know  that  she  is  beautiful — ay,  sweetly  beautiful. 
Espouse  her." 

"  Espouse  Henriette  !  and  is  this  the  language  you  use — the  counsel  you 
give  to  your  lawful  husband — your  husband  in  the  sight  of  God  and  man  ?" 

"  Lawful  or  unlawful,"  she  replied,  "  it  matters  not.  The  marriage  was 
performed  under  the  impression  that  you  were  no  more.  To  my  second  hus- 
band I  owe  all  the  fidelity  I  bore  the  first ;  and,  therefore,  I  swear  it,  no  man 
can  share  the  love  of  Ernestina,  but  the  father  of  the  child  in  which  she 
glories.     Leave  me,  de  Boiscourt.     What  you  ask  never  can  be  granted." 

'»  But,  Ernestina " 

"  I  have  said  it,"  she  interrupted,  emphatically.  '•  Fulfil  your  threat — 
avow  yourself  as  the  Baron  de  Boiscourt,  falsely  supposed  dead.  Drive 
us  from  the  chateau  as  paupers  and  wanderers.  The  forest  shall  be  our 
home.  We  will  toil  for  life,  with  our  own  unaccustomed  hands,  if  only  that 
it  may  be  spent  in  the  endearments  of  our  surpassing  love.  The  depth  of 
our  affection  will  give  us  wherewithal  to  sustain  our  strength,  and  with 
that  and  health  what  care  we  for  the  vain  superfluities  of  the  world  ?  One 
only  thought  animates  our  being — for  one  only  object  do  we  live.  Take  from 
us  that,  and  the  cord  of  existence  is  at  once  snapped  asunder." 

"  Have  a  care,  Ernestina !"  he  exclaimed  wildly,  •'  that  you  do  not  drive 
me  to  desperation.  There  are  bounds  to  human  fortitude  and  forbearance. 
Sooner,"  he  added,  raising  his  clasped  hands  to  heaven,  and  shedding  tears 
of  agony,  "  would  I  have  believed  in  the  crushing  of  the  world  around  me, 
than  in  the  possibility  that  you  could  ever  be  false.   But  again,"  he  resumed 


'»|i 


u\ 


■  W 


t 


ii^ 


140 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF   ST.    JOHN. 


fiercely,  and  in  the  despondinc  voice  of  one  utterly  withont  hope — "  I  care 
not  how  much  you  love  Abdallah — let  this  Hercules,  this  Samson — whose 
strength  you  so  dote  on,  censume  you  with  it  if  he  will,  yet  that  will  I 
also— nor  shall  any  humpn  power  .prevent  me.  Emestina,  you  have  been 
candid  with  me,  I  shall  be  equally  so  with  you.  I  do  not  say  that  notwith- 
standing the  past,  I  do  not  still  love  you  to  a  certain  extent ;  but  my  will 
is  greater  than  my  love.  Nay,  look  not  grave,  as  though  the  power  of 
love  was  a  stranger  to  your  heart.  Mine  you  shall  be  even  at  this  moment, 
so  submit, willingly  as  women  sometimes  do  in  Palestine — unwillingly,  as 
oftoner  I  have  seen  them  when  forced  within  the  embrace  of  men  whose 
passions  were  aroused,  made  mad,  even  as  I  am  now,  by  gazing  on  their 
beauty." 

"  And  do  you  really  mean,  de  Boiscourt?"  continued  the  Lady  Ernestina, 
shrinking  from  his  determined  look. 

"  I  mean,"  he  answered,  his  eye  flashing  Are,  and  his  face  crimsoning, 
even  under  his  disguise,  "  that  Abdallah  shall  not  pillow  on  that  bosom  until 
my  head  has  been  there.  Come  then,  sweet  wife,  that  art  no  wife  ;  in  spite 
of  fate  and  ten  thousand  Monk-Knights,  once  more,  at  least,  you  siiall  be 
mine." 

He  threw  himself  at  her  side,  upon  the  couch,  caught  her  firmly  round 
the  waist  with  his  left  arm,  and  attempted  to  loose  her  morning  and  unbelted 
dress  with  the  other  hand. 

"  Abdallah  !  oh.  Abdallah  !  she  shrieked,  '*  where  are  you  ? — Tioatbsome 
man,  unhand  me. " 

"  Heed  not  Abdallah,"  he  interrupted.  "  It  is  by  my  device  he  is  away, 
and  by  my  device  he  will  yet  rerodin.  But,  ah  I  what  a  treasure  has  he 
garnered  here.  By  my  soul  I  could  love  him  for  this.  Nay,  sweet  one,  you 
cannot  reproach  yourself  with  the  sin,  since  such  you  deem  it." 

In  vain  the  Lady  Ernestina  struggled.  De  Boiscourt  tore  open  her  dress, 
from  the  bosom  to  the  waist,  but  ere  he  had  accomplished  this,  she  had  fainted. 

De  Boiscourt  was  no  sooner  aware  of  this  than  his  noble  nature  reproached 
him.  True,  he  felt  that  he  had  perfect  right  to  act  as  he  had  acted  ;  but  it 
was,  nevertheless,  revolting  to  his  feelings  to  resort  to  violence  for  that  which 
love  alone  should  accord,  and  yet  worlds  could  not  have  stayed  the  wild  im- 
pulse of  his  excited  soul. 

"  Oh  !  Ernestina,  forgive  me,"  he  said.  "  I  knew  not  what  I  did,  or  rather 
knowing,  I  had  not  the  power  to  .'esist  the  fascination  of  these  well-remem- 
bered charms.  Well  can  I  conceive  what  must  be  the  love,  the  rapture  of 
Abdallah." 

"  Monster  !"  she  exclaimed,  forcing  herself  with  a  violent  effort  from  his 
embrace,  and  starting  to  her  feet,  "  my  curse  upon  you  for  having  thus  pol- 
luted me.  My  peace  of  mind  is  gone — my  purity  destroyed.  How  shall  I 
ever  look  again  on  him,  whose  child,  once  bright  and  holy,  is  tainted  with 
this  sin.  Hear  me,"  she  said,  sinking  and  raising  her  clasped  hands, 
"  even  as  once  I  loved  you,  so  now  I  hate.  To  live  beneath  your  roof  were 
lingering  torture  worse  than  death.  This  night  Abdallah  and  myself  will 
leave  it ;  for  I  should  die  to  meet  once  more  the  author  of  my  shame,  the 
man  whose  boasting  eye  should  tell  me  at  each  turn  his  guilty  knowledge  o^ 


I     ■     •♦ 


4 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT   OF    ST.    JOHN. 


141 


my  husband's  witV .  Ijoavo  me,  false  knight  alone,"  ulie  concluded,  rising, 
for  should  Ahdaliah  enter,  he  must  know  the  crime,  I  fain  would  hide  from 
him,  and  then  what  can  save  you  from  his  vengeance  V 

"  Ii«!t  him  come,"  said  the  Baron,  with  excitement.  Let  him  show  to  us 
whether  ho  bears  a  charmed  life.  Listen  to  nic,  wife  of  two  husbands,  who 
has  tasted  of  more  joy  in  five  and  twenty  cummers,  than  over  fell  to  the  lot 
of  created  woman  in  fii\y.  Let  Abdallah  come,  and  in  the  death  struggle 
contend  with  me  for  mastery  of  your  peerless  person.  Tell  me,  shall  the 
victor  have  the  spoil  ?     Will  you  be  the  wife  of  him  who  conquers  '" 

"Your  wife'  never,  de  Hoiacourt.  No  man's  wife  but  his;  it  were 
mockery  of  love  to  take  another.     Abdallah's  arms  or  the  grave  !" 

"  {)h  !  what  exceeding  lewdness,"  said  the  Baron,  fiercely  as  he  tiglitly 
grasped  her  arm.  "  You  pretend  it  not,  and  yet  you  unblushingly  avow  it. 
Why  did  you  first  love  and  wed  this  Monk  !  Shall  I  tell  you !  Because 
your  wanton  and  dissatisfied  soul,  sought  unlawful  pleasure  in  the  arms  of 
one  whom  I  had  painted  as  cold  and  stern  to  woman.  Your  inmost  soul 
has  revelled  in  the  vast  joy  ;  and  the  fulness,  the  endearingncss  of  his  [Mjwer 
has  shut  your  heart  to  every  other  mau.  This,"  he  continued,  fiercely,  "  is 
the  true  oause  of  your  conduct  to  me  ;  not  love,  but  passion  usurped  domi- 
nion over  your  soul.  A  greater  love  cannot  admit  a  lesser.  You  have 
no  time  for  weaker  joys  than  what  Abdallah  yields.  Nay,  even  now,  while 
revelling  in  your  unwilling  arms,  your  very  hate  of  me  could  not  restrain 
your  love  for  him.  I  but  pronounced  his  name,  coupled  with  endearing 
whispered  words  of  tenderness,  when,  even  amid  the  seoming  loathing  of 
your  heart,  you  repeated  it,  and  first  suspending  your  resistance,  became  my 
own  even  of  your  own  accord." 

"  'Tis  false,  I  never  did." 

"  You  do  no'  recollect  it,"  he  answered,  with  a  bitter  smile.  "  At  first  I 
feared  your  struggling  would  baffle  me  ;  but,  no  sooner  did  I  pronounce  the 
Monk-Knight's  name  with  otherwords,  when,  with  a  deep  sigh,  you  fainted  ; 
then  my  happiness  was  complete,  for  it  was  mixed  with  your  compelled  though 
unconscious  sighs." 

"  'Tis  false,  again.  I  never  did  so,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Ijeave  me,  traitor, 
leave  me,  instantly,  lest  ill  result  from  this.  De  Boisf'ourt,  words  cannot 
tell  with  what  hate  I  hate  you." 

"  Is  it  even  so,"  ho  said,  fiercely.  "  Then,  since  this  may  be  the  last 
chance  aflTorded  let  me  not  play  the  fool." 

At  that  moment  the  door  of  the  summer-house  opened,  and  Abdallah  ap- 
peared at  the  entrance.  Stupefied  at  the  sight  he  covered  his  eyes  with  his 
hands,  and  stood  for  some  moments  buried  in  calm  but  profound  thought. 
When  he  at  length  spoke,  it  was  serenely,  not  in  anger. 

"  De  Boiscourt,"  he  said,  "  you  have  provoked  the  fate  you  are  now  des- 
tined to  suffer.  Never  after  this  shall  you  behold  the  Lady  Ernestina  more. 
Even  as  Rome  could  not  contain  two  Caesars,  so  can  her  beauty  not  contain 
two  masters.  It  was  yours,  it  is  mine.  Of  your  own  free  will  you  gave  it 
me.  You  seduced  my  soul  to  adore  it.  1  have  done  so  ;  oh  I  how  wildly, 
how  dearly.  And  yet  I  am  not  jealous.  Ah  !  no  :  neither  am  I  a  mere  boy 
to  punish  rudely,  what  well  I  know  your  inmost  soul  must  die  to  lose.  Who 


!■ 


-«■ 


-.^  r 


142 


THE    MONK    KNIUHT    OF    M'.    JuHN. 


''>  ilri'i 


4 

I' , 


of  Ilia  own  wilIin((n<>M  leaves  heaven  fur  hell  must  feel  but  aiiKui8li  :inJ  de- 
spair— the  tormenui  of  the  damned.  Nay,  by  my  »oul,  I  am  glad  lliai,  not 
consenting,  you  have  taken  that  will  make  your  knowledif^o  of  our  joys  more 
perfect,  and  stin^  the  memory  to  madness." 

The  unhappy  Knight  folded  his  arms,  and  stood  upright,  and  with  ron- 
temptuous  look  gazed  on  him  whom  he  had  onoe  loved  with  u  warmth  wnd 
tenderness  surpassing  those  of  man  for  man. 

"  Most  proud  do  1  feel,"  he  said,  with  an  attempt  at  Marcasm,  "  to  be  thus 
lectured  by  the  friend-^the  holy,  scrupulous,  and  conscientious  friend — to 
whom  1  gave  my  all  on  earth,  reserving  not  a  corner  for  myself  in  the 
once  faithful  heart  of  my  wife ;  but  this,  remember,  on  the  sole  condition  of 
my  fall.  I  trusted  in  his  honor,  even  as  I  trust  in  heaven,  to  restore  her, 
polluted  or  unpolluted,  with  his  passion,  should  I  return.  Would,  would  that 
I  had  been  left  to  die  upon  that  fatal  field  !" 

The  Monk-Knight  covered  hie  face  with  his  hands,  and  seemed  deeply 
agitated.  Then  collecting  himself:  ♦'  De  Boist^ourt,"  he  said,  "  I  feel  this 
reproach  bitterly.  I  felt  it  when  you  aimed  the  death-blow  at  my  heart ;  for 
at  a  single  glanje,  even  under  your  disguise,  ]  knew  you,  and  was  deso- 
lated by  your  presence." 

"  What  has  been  done,"  returned  the  Baron,  with  sudden  animation, 
"  cannot  be  undone.  You  have  revelled  in  the  matchless  beauty  of  my 
wife.  I  have  tasted  that  of  yours.  The  past  cannot  be  recalled  ;  therefore, 
even  as  I  proposed  to  Ernestina,  so  do  I  propose  to  you.  She  shall  be  your 
wife  by  holy  rite  of  Church,  the  last  performed,  while  I,  sinking  my  name 
and  title,  and  all  claim  to  these  estates  in  favor  of  her  child,  remain  your 
faithful  squire.  She  will  then  be  the  wife  of  two  husbands  who  long  have 
loved  each  other  with  more  than  a  mere  human  love,  and  therefore  but  of 
one " 

The  Monk-Knight  started  us  if  a  serpent  had  stung  him.  He  looked  at 
the  features  of  the  Lady  Emestjna,  as  if  to  gather  there  her  answer.  Unut- 
terable scorn  was  upon  her  brov.     His  answer  was  in  accordance. 

"  Baron  de  Boiscourt,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  well  it  is  that  you  no  longer 
form  a  portion  of  the  high-minded  knight  force  of  Palestine.  What,  pander 
to  your  own  dishonor,  or  deem  such  course  to  fasten  on  Abdallah  ?  Never. 
This  may  be  the  Gallic  creed — a  creed  intended  to  descend  to  ages,  yet  un- 
born in  France,  but  it  is  not  mine.  The  Moorish  blood  that  flows  within 
my  veins,  and  which,  once  ice,  the  perfect  knowledge  of  the  sex  of  her  we 
both  do  love  hath  turned  to  scalding  lava  in  my  veins,  recoils  with  horror 
from  such  foul  admixture.  No  matter  how  obtained — in  error  or  in  wrong — 
the  sacred  treasure  of  her  love  where  God  has  set  his  mystic  seal  is  mine,  and 
deep  remorse,  and  guilt,  and  shame,  would  overwhelm  my  soul,  could  such 
baseness  enter  it.  Hope  it  not,  Sir  Baron.  If  I  had  not  crushed  you  for 
that  which  passed  beneath  my  very  eyes — this  violence  done  to  her  who  was 
your  wife  and  now  is  mine — it  was  because  it  was  too  late  to  remedy.  No 
punishment  of  mine  could  ever  unmake  the  past.  There  was  another  reason  : 
forbearance  was  in  mercy  due  to  one  who  had  laid  the  foundation  of  my  own 
wild  happiness,  even  at  the  utter  sacrifice  of  his  own.  Go,  then.  Baron,  yet, 
for  the  last  time — see,  behold,"  he  said  fiercely,  aa  he  caught  the  Lady  Er- 


\m 


<^S. 


THK    MdNK    KNKMIT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


143 


nestina  to  his  heart,  wilCuliy  and  wuntnnly  dimirtlcriiii;  1 1 or  already  disordered 
dresH  ill  llio  act — "  y<'H,  I'vt'ii  tortln'  lant  liinf.  do  you  ^aze  u|)oii  the  madden- 
ing Iteauty  o(  her  lor  whom  y<'ii  yoiirsflt  have  cauBf<l  iiic  to  lenoiinco 
religion,  chastity,  and  the  <'rn8R,  for  ever.  1  pardon  your  conduct  to  my 
noble  wife.  All,  I  forgi'vis  in  consideration  of  the  pawt ;  but  tiie  seal  of  our 
onee  strong  friendHliip  ia  broken — the  tie  u  snapped  anunder,  never  to  he 
reunited." 

"  (io,"  Hiiid  the  Lady  KrneMijiui.  haughtily,  yet  wieeringly.  while  she 
(suffered  the  Monk-Knight  to  torture  the  unhappy  de  Hoiscourt  with  the  rich 
display  of  her  fascinaiing  beauty.  "  Here  in  my  lover,  my  husband,"  she 
continued,  throwing  her  right  arm  round  his  Herculean  neck,  without  alter- 
ing a  position,  which  carried  madness  to  the  soul  ol  the  forsaken  one.  "  Be- 
hold !  I  am  his — go,  and  carry  with  you,  the  recollection  of  the  past — en- 
shroud yourself  in  the  anticipation  of  the  future  Think  ever  of  what  you 
have  lost — of  what  I  have  gained.  Let  it  be  y(uir  never-ending  punishtnent 
in  life  to  behold  me  in  Abdallah's  arinti,  wantoning  in  bliss,  and  without 
words  to  tell  him  the  magnitude  uf  happiness  with  which  he  fills  me." 

De  I3oiscourt's  hair  appeared  to  stand  on  end — his  face  was  distorted 
— his  eyes  wild  and  glowing — his  breathing  dilficult — he  dropped  on  his 
knees — he  raised  his  clenched  bands  to  Heaven. 

"  Do  I  live."  he  exclaimed,  with  unearthly  hoarseness,  and  gnashing  his 
teeth,  "or  am  I  in  hell,  and  sutfering  the  torments  of  the  damned?  But 
ha!  1  have  it.  Thank  Heaven,!  am  iu)t  dead.  1  will  live;  yes,  I  will  live. 
That  will  do.  Oh  !  damnable  wife  and  friend,  whom  I  have  loved,  so  loved, 
that  self  was  annihilated  in  my  deep  regard  for  you.  Look  not  it  me  so, 
with  such  treacherous  compassion — 1  hate  you  both." 

He  rose  wihily  from  his  knees — he  staggered  to  the  door,  which  AJbdallah 
opened  for  him.  He  rushed  forth  with  uncertain  steps,  even  as  a  drunken 
man,  and  with  a  piteous  heart-rending  groan  of  anguish,  disappeared  in  the 
depths  of  the  forest. 

There  are  sudden  and  unaccountable  changes  in  the  human  mind  which 
fill  the  man  of  reflection  with  deep  enduring  pain,  mixed  with  mortification 
at  the  construction  of  his  own  nature.  This  was  an  instance.  A  sweet  illu- 
sion had  been  destroyed,  and  with  it,  one  of  the  noblest  hearts  that  ever 
throbbed  in  the  breast  of  man. 


CHAPTER    XXV  II. 


Upwards  of  three  weeks  had  elapsed  since  the  strange,  exciting,  and 
even  fearful  scene,  recorded  in  the  last  chapter.  It  was  now  midnight,  as 
two  men  might  be  seen  crouching  in  the  shadow  of  the  summer-house,  and 
heard  conversing  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Is  all  prepared  t"  inquired  he  who  seemed  to  be  the  master.  Are  the 
rooms  furnished  with  all  possible  luxury,  as  1  ordered  V 


..  B' 


V. 


i-  I 


144 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


"  They  are,  Monseigneur,"  was  the  reply.  '•  1  superintended  the  furniah- 
ing  myself,  and  took  devilish  good  care,  while  providing  the  eatables  and 
drinkables,  to  lay  in  a  good  stock  of  that  Cyprus  wine  he  relishes  so  much, 
and  his  fondness  for  which  had  well  nigh  cost  me  my  life — you  know  where. 
Dame  !  that  will  serve  to  increase  his  punishment  by  giving  more  fever  to 
his  blood,  without  the  power  to  quench  it.  Oh!  howl  hate  that  Monk- 
Knight.  I  have  been  longing  for  his  life  ever  since  that  night  before  the 
battle  of  Tiberias." 

"  True,  Cceur-de-Fer,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  he  used  you  harshly  on  that 
occasion.     How  you  came  to  survive  the  blow  is  miraculous." 

"  It  was  a  long  time  before  I  recovered,"  returned  Cceur-de-Fer  ;  "  how- 
ever, that  is  another  affair — we'll  talk  of  that  later.  But  now,  Monseigneur, 
,^  visit  the  secret  chambers.  Ill  show  you  that  everything  id  done  to  your 
satisfaction,  and  as  you  desired.  Please  to  follow  me.  I  have  a  dark  lantera 
to  light  us  through  the  passage  that  opens  from  the  forest,  and  conducts  to 
the  cells  of  the  castle.  You  shall  see  for  yourself  how  I  have  managed 
matters." 

De  Boiscourt  followed  his  guide  and  former  groom,  who,  after  arriving  at 
a  small  open  space  in  the  front,  removed  a  quantity  of  dried  leaves  and 
branches.  This  act  discovered  a  small  trap-door,  about  three  feet  square, 
imbedded  in  a  framework  of  stone,  and  provided  with  a  strong  ring,  by  meana 
of  which  he  lifted  it  up.  Descending  first,  he  lighted  his  lantern,  when  he 
thought  he  had  got  sufficiently  far  to  prevent  the  danger  of  the  reflection 
being  seen  by  any  one  who  might  be  in  the  neighborhood.  The  Baron 
taking  the  trap-door  flat  on  the  upturned  palm  of  his  hand,  and  suffering  it 
to  descend  as  he  descended,  finally  closed  the  aperture.  He  followed  Coeur- 
de-Fer  through  a  long, winding  and  labyrinthan  passage — the  aide-walls  of 
which  were  of  such  massy  thickness,  that  no  sound  could  possibly  have  been 
heard  through  them.  They  had  proceeded  about  half  an  hour  through 
winding  corridors  and  intersecting  branches  of  the  same  passage,  seemingly 
built  for  the  very  purpose  of  misleading  those  not  thoroughly  acquainted  with 
the  intricacies  of  the  cavern,  when  Coeur-de-Fer  stopped  suddenly,  and 
sounding  with  a  huge  hammer,  with  which  he  was  provided,  stated  that  they 
had  reached  the  point  desired. 

*'  Ah  !  ^a,  Monseigneur,  hard  work  it  will  be  for  others  to  discover  the 
entrance  here,  even  if  tlipy  should  find  the  way  in  from  above,"  he  remarked, 
cxiiltingly,  "  since  I  scarcely  can  discover  it  myself." 

"  It  is  a  place  just  fitted  for  the  purpose,  Cceur-de-Fer,"  remarked  the 
Baron. 

"  So,  so;  how  nicely  that  spring  answers  to  the  touch  of  my  nail,  and 
then  the  door  opens  without  noise  upon  its  hinges.  One  would  have  thought 
it  had  been  in  daily  use  for  the  same  purpose  for  a  century  at  least.  Ah, 
ca,  here  we  are.     A  little  more  light,  though,  would  not  be  amiss." 

■ur-de-Fer  now  took  one  from  a  heap  of  torches  that  lay  in  one  corner 
of  the  room,  and  having  lighted  this  from  his  own  lamp,  the  whole  space  was 
soon  illuminated,  ?nd  even  astonished  the  Baron,  who  had  in  some  degree 
been  pre;)ared  foi  it.  The  walls  were  strongly  built,  and  almost  hard  and 
polished  as  aiarble,  and  where  not  covered  with  the  most  voluptuoii  repre- 


:      ^-J 


.       '?^ 


ist 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


145 


sentations  of  the  loves  of  the  heathen  deities — as  well  as  scriptural  subjects 
— was  of  the  most  perfect  workmanship.  The  floor  was  covered  with  small 
mats,  like  those  of  the  principal  rooms  of  the  chateau.  Easy  chairs,  otto- 
mans, tabourets,  music,  paintings,  books,  some  of  the  latter  of  a  very  equivocal 
character,  were  strewn  about  the  tables  ;  wines,  of  all  kinds  and  vintage ; 
preserved  meats,  water,  bisc\iits,  fruits — almost  every  viand  exciting  to  the 
palate,  which  could  be  imagined,  were  piled  up  on  shelves  supported  by 
strong  brackets  driven  into  the  wall ;  and  everything  was  in  equal  proportion  at 
either  side  of  the  room.  This  again,  divided  from  one  end  to  the  other  by 
a  strong,  open  iron  railing,  about  three  inches  in  thickness,  firmly  welded 
and  soldered  into  the  extremities  of  the  wall  at  many  points,  was  further 
strengthened  by  strong  stancheons,  let  into  the  floor,  and  made  to  support 
the  vast  pile,  at  every  six  inches  of  its  length.  It  reached  to  the  very 
roof,  and  was  riveted  to  the  ceiling  in  the  same  manner  as  to  the  siaes.  The 
bars  were  just  sufficiently  asunder  to  admit  a  hand,  but  not  always  that,  for 
except  when  the  blood  was  driven  to  the  shoulder  by  holding  the  arm  in  a 
perpendicular  position,  this  was  diflficult  of  attainment.  At  one  extremity  of 
each  division  of  this  apartment,  some  forty  feet  in  height,  a  sleeping  apart- 
ment had  been  put  up,  with  a  smaller  room  within,  luxuriously  furnished 
also,  and  provided  with  open  gratings,  set  in  the  stone  also,  and  communi- 
cating with  the  vaults  beneath.  A  fountain  of  clear  and  running  water 
supplied  two  branches  ot  a  pipe  that  conducted  into  marble  baths.  This 
water,  when  used,  was  let  off  through  other  pipes  into  th«  gutters,  through 
which  it  passed  away. 

••  You  have  done  well,  Coeur-de-Fer,"  said  the  Baron,  approvingly.  "  I 
could  not  myself  have  planned  a  place  more  suited  to  the  purpose.  Little  will 
thev  think,  on  entering  it,  how  fearful  a  place  of  punishment,  notwithstand- 
inir  its  seeming  comfort,  it  will  prove  to  them.  But  how  will  you  manage 
the  abduction  T  It  must  be  done  in  all  s"'-Tesy,  and  will  require  not  a  few 
stout  hearts  to  secure  Abdallah." 

"  The  whole  of  the  men-at-arms,  Monseigneur,  are  eager  to  join  in  making 
captive  the  man  they  hate  for  his  foul  murder  of  their  comrades.  He  will 
have  some  trouble  to  escape  their  strength  and  vigilance." 

'•  ('ceur-de-Fer,"  said  the  Baron,  gravely,  "  mind  that  they  obey  my 
orders.  Nothing  of  violence,  recollect,  beyond  what  is  necessary  to  secure 
his  person.  Should  I  hear  the  slightest  complaint  of  unnecessary  rudeness 
10  either,  beware  of  my  displeasure." 

"  But,  Monseigneur,"  returned  the  ill-looking  Coeur-de-Fer,  "  suppose  all 
do  not  entertain  the  same  fear  of  your  displeasure.  There  are  some  spirits 
that  thirst  so  deeply  for  the  opportunity  of  punishing  this  Monk,  it  will  be 
hard  to  restrain  their  desire  for  vengeance." 

"  Sirrah,"  said  the  Baron,  impemtively  :  "  you  have  had  my  orders — i 
shall  make  you  personally  responsible  for  any  unnecessary  violence  that  maj 
be  offered.  All  I  require  of  you  is  the  security  of  their  persons.  No  injury 
must  be  inflicted — no  word  of  insult  offered.  They  must,"  he  pursued, 
almost  savagely,  "  be  in  the  Ml  enjoyment  of  their  perfect  health.  Do  you 
understand  me  V 

"  I  dOjMonesigneur.    Depend  upon  it  I  shall  watch  thera  as  the  tiger  does 

10 


matVi  •fiiiag'iftaiirAiBV. 


'  \\ 


1^ 
V     K' 


i. 


146 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


its  prey.  But  faith,  your  cruelty  surpasses  mine.  Yes,"  he  continued, 
exulting  at  the  thought,  "  they  shall  have  the  most  nutritious  food.  From 
the  garden  I  will  supply  them  daily  with  the  most  sense-subduing  flowers. 
Wine — ah  !  that  Cyprus  sticks  in  my  throat  yet — shall  be  ever  near  to  tempt 
him.  See  that  trellis-work,  Monseigneur,  it  is  so  managed  that  a  long  and 
narrow  flask  may  be  passed  through  it,  and  the  Lady  Ernestina  made  to  glow 
with  deeper  passion  for  her  paramour." 

"Stop!"  thundered  de  Boiscourt,  fiercely,  "do  what  I  command,  but 
cease  your  vile  speech.  Presume  not  to  speak  of  your  mistress  but  with  the 
respect  her  position  and  rank  demand." 

"  My  lord  shall  be  obeyed,"  said  the  fellow,  sullenly  ;  "  and  now  will 
Monseigneur  give  me  my  last  orders." 

"  First,  I  must  know  how  you  propose  to  act.  to  secure  Abdallah." 

"  I  have  arranged  all  that,"  was  the  reply.  "  One  of  our  men  is  to  go  as 
their  postillion  from  Clermont.  They  do  not  start  until  evening,  so  that  at 
midnight,  by  stopping  frequently  and  driving  slowly  to  preserve  their  horses* 
feet,  which  it  is  intended  slightly  to  lame,  their  journey  will  not  have  ad- 
vanced beyond  the  centre  of  the  forest,  where  a  dozen  men  will  be  placed, 
dressed  as  peasants  and  wood-cutters,  but  with  their  trusty  arms  and  thongs 
of  strength  concealed  beneath  their  simple  garb.  They  will  so  manage,  that 
when  the  heart  of  the  forest  is  gained,  a  wheel  of  the  carriage  shall  come  off, 
which  will  compel  the  parties  to  alight.  That  will  be  the  moment  chosen 
to  spring  upon  him,  and  bind  him  with  the  cords  provided  by  them.  I 
confess,  Monseigneur,  I  should  have  liked  to  prick  his  throat  a  little  with 
my  bodkin,  but  since  you  say  no,  no  harm  shall  come  to  him." 

"  And  what  do  you  intend  to  do,  when  you  have  bound  him?"  again 
questioned  de  Boiscourt,  less  with  a  view  to  information  than  to  know  if 
C(Eur-de-Fer  rightly  understood  the  part  he  was  to  act. 

"  When  we  have  secured  him,  the  carriage-wheel  will  be  put  on  again — 
the  purposed  laming  of  the  horses  rectified,  and  their  heads  turned  to 
the  spot  through  wiiich  we  just  now  descended.  First,  the  Lady  Ernes- 
tina will  be  lowered,  and  the  Monk  will  freely  follow.  One  trusty  man 
alone  will  go  with  me,  for  I  suppose  Monseigneur  would  not  like  many  to 
know  the  secret  of  the  door.  The  cells  shall  be  as  palaces,  the  lights  therein 
bailliant  and  dazzling  to  the  eye — all  rich  with  luxury  and  temptation  to  the 
sense." 

"  Right,"  observed  the  Baron  ;  "  but  how  will  you  manage  to  separate 
them?  Like  a  lion  raging  in  his  den  will  Abdallah  be,  when  he  finds  hi» 
mate  not  with  him." 

"  That,  Monseigneur,  I  have  provided  for.  When  first  he  enters,  the 
Monk-Knight,  dazzled  by  the  strong  light,  succeeding  darkness,  will  not 
perceive  the  two  cells,  or  rather  the  separate  rooms.  Confidingly  he  will  en- 
ter, believing  that  the  partner  of  his  guilty  love " 

"  Hold,  rufl!ian  !"  said  de  Boiscourt,  grasping  him  by  the  throat;  "  speak 
not  thus  slightingly  of  the  Lady  de  Boiscourt — of  my  wife.  It  is  enough  for 
me  to  think  and  feel  as  I  will ;  but,  fellow — recollect  the  diflferenoe  of  our 
position." 

"  Well,  Monsiegnetir,  pttdor   if  1  kave  ofieaded — I  meant  no  harm. 


•-    %■ 


;    'ill 
I  J 


I 


riii:  MiiNK   KNu.iir  or  >v.  john. 


147 


Well,  as  1  was  sayinn;,  when  he  eiilovs,  liiis  cage  shall  be  instantly  closed 
upon  him.  and  locked  and  ijarred,  never  more  to  open  Then,  when  he 
thunders  out  his  fury  and  his  grief,  the  Lady  Ernestini!  mil  be  conducted 
to  her  room,  the  door  of  which,  when  she  has  enter  .  will  quickly  groan 
upon  its  hinges  for  the  last  time,  unless,  indeed,  Mons  igneur  pleases " 

"  I  understand  you — no  more  of  that.  But  how  will  the  enrds  of  Abdal- 
lah  he  removed  ?  he  must  not  do  it  himself;  and  even  if  the  delicate  fingers 
of  the  Lady  Ernestina  were  strong  enough  to  untie  those  rude  knots,  she 
could  not  do  so  through  the  bars." 

"  For  that,  too,  Monseigneur,  I  have  provided.  When  once  the  cage  of 
the  second  prisoner  is  fastened,  I  shall  hand  her,  through  the  bars,  a  long 
sharp  knife,  wherewith  to  cut  them  when  alone.  Don't  you  think  that  will 
do  admirably,  Monseigneur?'' 

Again  the  Baron  took  a  minute  survey  of  the  furniture  of  the  two  rooms. 
Everything  appertaining  to  comfort — nay,  to  luxury,  had  been  provided. 
Two  trap-doors,  of  about  eighteen  inches  square,  had  been  cut  in  the  ceiling, 
which  was  of  a  sombre  cwlor,  the  better  to  prevent  them  from  being  seen 
below.  Those,  particularly,  drew  the  attention  of  the  Baron,  who  declared 
them  perfect,  and  most  difficult  of  detection. 

"  All  this  is  well,  Coeur-de-Fer,"'  he  said  ;  "  nothing  of  the  kind  could 
have  been  more  adroitly  planned,  and  well  have  you  deserved  your  hundred 
crowns.  You  have  the  guardianship  here,  and  the  only  punishment  I  would 
inflict  upon  the  Monk-Knight,  besides  that  most  cruel  which  these  sepa- 
rate chairb"-"  arn  meant  to  impose,  is  that  of  seeing,  ever  and  anon,  in  close 
attendant'"  -  i?  oerson,  him  whom  he  knows  to  haveso  much  cause  to  hate 
him." 

'•  Ah  !   .  '.ou  !    I  can  I'ancy  he  will  look  surprised  when  first  he  sees 

me  as  one  risen  from  the  dead  to  reproach  him  for  the  foul  murders  that  he 
oommitted  in  Palestine,  without  other  cause  than  drinking  a  little  of  his 
wine.  Pardieu  !  if  1  refused  him  there,  1  ^lali  make  up  for  it  now.  He 
shall  have  wine  enough  to  turn  his  blood  to  fire." 

"  But  no  violence,  recollect.  You  must  treat  him  even  as  you  do  the  Lady 
Ernestina — with  deference  and  gentleness.'' 

"  Well,"  answered  Coeur-do-Fer,  scratching  his  head,  and  looking  puzzled, 
"  that  is  a  hard  condition,  to  keep  from  telling  him  what  I  think  of  his  bru- 
tal murder  of  my  comrades-  \.:d  attempt  to  destroy  myself  for  merely  taking 
H  cup  of  his  wine." 

*'  That  is  false,  knave  I"  said  the  Baron  sternly.  "  He  nearly  slew  you, 
and  you  richly  deserved  it  ;  not  for  the  wine,  hut  beca\iso  you  were  about  to 
murder  the  poor  boy — the  gentle  Riidolph.  I  have  a  reckoning  yet  for  that 
with  you." 

"  Did  he  say  that  I  intended  to  nuirder  him  1"  (juestioned  CoRur-de-Fer, 
with  atfected  astonishment.  "  It  is  false.  It  was  hiin  that  attacked  me. 
You  would  not  have  thought  it.  Mon.<«Mgneur,  hut  he  jumped  at  my  throat 
like  a  young  tiger." 

"  Poor  boy!  I  only  wish  he  weie  here  to  tell  his  own  story,"  .said  the 
Baron.  "  But  he  was  wounded  even  before  myself  in  the  next  day's  battle  : 
1  fear  he  has  been  slain." 


I 


J»'rt 


148 


THE    MOVK    KNKiHT    Ol     sT.    JOHN. 


"  Tt  is  false  as  hell  I  Monsiegneur,"  he  continued,  asaumi!  j  confidence  in 
the  absence  of  all  contradictory  testimony  against  him.  "  He  hati  tne  by  the 
throat  when  I  was  down,  and  would  have  strangled  me  had  not  the  cursed 
Monk  made  short  work  of  the  matter  with  his  damned  acimeter.  He  gave 
me  a  scar,  the  marks  of  which,  will  remain  for  life." 

De  Boiscourt  replied  not.  He  knew  that  the  villain  was  telling  a  gross 
falsehood,  but  as  he  was  necessary  to  his  purpose,  he  thought  it  better  not  to 
provoke,  by  appearing  to  mistrust  him. 

"  Well,  no  matter  who  was  the  aggressor,"  he  continued.  The  poor  boy 
was  no  match  for  you,  and  you  ought  to  have  avoided  all  struggle  with  him, 
if  only  for  my  sake." 

"  I  will  make  up  for  it,"  he  answered,  "  by  my  conduct  to  the  Monk. 
He  shall  not  complain,  I  warrant  me,  of  not  overdosing  him  with  wine,  and 
all  the  good  things  he  may  want  but  one,"  and  here  he  grinned  horribly. 

"  It  must  be  near  day-break,"  said  the  Baron,  interrupting  him,  and  if  we 
linger  longer,  some  peasant,  bound  to  liis  daily  toil,  may  chance  to  pass  as 
we  ascend  to  earth,  and  discover  our  retreat.  We  must  be  speedy  and 
cautions." 

Again  the  lamps,  all  of  which  had  ^een  lighted  to  show  the  Baron  the 
effect  of  the  artificial  day,  which  in  future  was  to  continue  unchanged  in 
the  cavern,  were  put  out,  the  door  bolted,  and  the  entrance  from  the  passage 
hcnnetieally  closed. 

As  before,  Coeur-de-Fer  led  the  way.  He  raised  the  trap-door  in  the 
forest,  looked  eagerly  round,  and  perceiving  that  there  was  no  intruder  near, 
bc^ckdiied  to  the  Knight,  who  vaulted  lightly  to  the  surface.  The  dour  was 
then  dropped  into  its  grooved  frame,  leaves  and  branches  were  spread  over  it 
as  before,  and  in  less  than  three  minutes,  there  was  iiothina  to  l)etray  its  ex- 
istence. Cautiously,  thus,  they  wound  their  way  along  ;i  narrow  path, 
which  led  to  some  distance  in  the  rear  of  the  chateau.  In  a  lonely  part  of  this 
wood,  and  branching  off  al)ruptly  fifty  yards  from  the  scarcely  distinguishable 
path,  rose  a  small  rude  cabin.  This  was  the  place  of  concealment  of  de 
Bniscourt,  who  was  still  disguised  as  when  he  had  first  made  his  appearance 
Itetbre  the  Lady  Ernestina  and  the  Monk-Knight,  not  a  month  before. 


11 


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T  ' 

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'*•   \% 

4b 

». 


TIIK    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


149 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

The  Monk-Knight  and  the  Lady  Ernestina  were  in  the  secret  rooms  which 
had  been  assigned  to  them.  The  artifice  of  Coeur-de-Fer  had  completely 
succeeded.  Even  as  he  stated  would  be  the  case,  was  their  capture  and  de- 
tention effected.  They  had  now  been  ten  days  in  their  confinement.  Ten 
days !  What  an  eternity  of  separation  for  those  who  truly  love.  Bitter, 
indeed,  were  tlieir  sensations  when  told  by  Cceur-de-Fer,  as  he  closed  the 
door  leading  to  the  passage,  that  they  were  condemned  to  live  for  ever  thus, 
and  that  their  tormentor — he,  on  whom  they  had  lavished  all  manner  of  abuse 
— was  the  injured  husband,  who,  unrelenting  in  his  vengeance,  had  pro- 
noimced  their  doom  irrevocable  and  perpetual. 

Ah  !  how  their  hearts  died  within  them,  when  first  the  vastness  of  the  pri- 
vation tliey  were  to  endure  struck  with  all  its  force  upon  Iheir  minds.  They 
we^e  a/paraly/ed — incapable  of  judgment  or  of  action.  But  by  degrees,  :is 
the  stupor  of  surjirise  passed  away,  the  fierce  reaction  of  mind  succeeded. 
Then  came  the  wild  expression  of  the  full  and  desiring  heart.  They 
called  upon  each  other  by  the  most  endearing  names.  These  witii  their 
glances  of  fire  caused  them  to  precipitate  themselves  against  the  barrier  ihiit 
divided  them.  Tiie  hands  of  Abdallah  were  lacerated  in  his  impetuous  and 
vain  efforts  to  force  them  through  the  strong  bars,  and  clasp  the  waist  of 
the  beloved  one.  The  Lady  Ernestina  was  near  frantic,  her  delicate  hand 
and  arm  were,  after  a  few  unsuccessful  efforts,  passed  through,  even  up  to 
the  shoulder.  Ah  !  what  words  can  express  her  delight.  Again  siio  lived 
a  new  life  !  To  be  permitted  the  happiness  of  simply  touching  the  form  of 
him  she  so  wholly  loved,  was  a  madness  of  rapture  she  would  not  have 
exchanged  for  the  possession  of  the  universe.  Her  arm  was  ever  there,  and 
it  was  only  when  Abdallah  urged  her  in  the  strongest  manner  to  take  nour- 
ishment and  repose  that  she  finally  consented  to  part  with,  what  she  seenieil 
to  fear  would,  when  once  withdrawn,  be  lost  to  her  possession  for  ever.  Even 
this,  though  a  source  of  joy,  was  such  only  to  one.  The  madness  of  disaji- 
pointment  came  over  the  soul  of  the  Monk-Knight.  His  veins  became  fiili>(l 
almost  to  bursting.  The  calm,  the  benevolence  of  expression  of  his  nohlf 
countenance  had  wholly  vanished,  and  was  replaced  not  by  the  pure,  and 
holy,  and  refined  passion  which  had  ever  hitherto  been  reflected  from  it,  but 
by  the  strong  desire  of  the  mere  animal.  He  knew  it — he  felt  it — he  almost 
loatlied  himself  for  it,  but  he  could  not  resist ;  for,  stung  by  her  own  feelings, 
the  Lady  Ernestina,  whose  increasing  pregnancy  gave  her  tenfold  beauty  in 
his  eyes,  so  added  fuel  to  his  fire  by  the  fond  manner  in  which  her  caress- 
ing arms  were  thrown  around  him,  that,  had  the  sense  of  touch  remained, 
he  could  have  cut  off  his  right  hand  with  the  knife  that  had  been  used  to 
Bever  his  bonds,  and  deemed  the  apparent  sacrifice  a  blessing 

Maddened,  infuriated,  excited  beyond  all  power  of  control,  several  times 
he  mduced  the  Lady  Ernestina  to  withdraw  her  arm — withdrawn  only  for  the 
purpose  which  he  named — and  then,  stepping  back  the  full  breadth  of  the 


• 


m 


130 


THE    MONK'    I.MUIIT    OK    ST.    .KMI.N 


a|)artmeiit,  riislu-d  witli  ;riaiit  strcumii  m  tin  liarritr,  and  darti'd  I'lirioualy 
aiciiiiitit  it  willi  liis  now  hIi(»iij(  and  luusciil  ir  siioiildcr.  I?ul  llic  coiiiiiacl  muss 
rcdi&ted  all  his  ollbits,  and  was  scarce  shaken  l)y  llie  alleuiiH.  Then,  with 
despair  in  his  heart,  lie  cast  himself  furiously  upon  the  lloor,  lore  his  hair, 
and  fjruaned  in  doep  apfony  of  liis  .spiiil.  eallinL:  on  iiis  v\if(!  to  take  [jity  on 
hiin — to  save  him  fnitn  the  hell  that  was  eonsnminjr  iiis  very  entrails. 

•'  What  is  the.  matter,  Sir  Monk  '"  once  askeil  a  rnlliaii  voice — "  doing  pen- 
ance for  your  Palestine  murders.  JEardly  worth  alicmptinjf  that,  they  are  too 
many.  Bettt?r  console  yourself  with  a  flask  of  ( 'yprus  wine,  tiiaii  rave  at  what 
cannot  be  helped.  See,  I  have  sent  yon  a  supply  of  evorythin<;  good.  Pates, 
roast  capons,  oysters,  lobsters,  everythinpf  that  can  tickle  the  appetite  iu  the 
way  of  eating;  and  then  to  wash  them  down,  there  is  in  tln^  other  hamper 
(.'hambertin,  Cloix,  Vogos,  Burgniuly,  and  what  you  know  you  used  to  like 
very  much  in  Palestine,  Tuscany  and  Cyjirus  wine.  Surely,  with  all  these 
good  things  to  stir  your  blood,  you  can  aHbrd  to  forego  one  lust  of  the  flesh. 
Eh,  Monk,  remember  the  fate  of  Thibaud!" 

The  Mouk-Knight  started  to  his  feet  with  a  vivacity,  that  in  a  man  of  his 
size,  was  more  remarkable  than  even  his  prodigious  strength.  He  glanced 
around  with  clenched  hands,  as  if  eager  to  seize,  and  destroy,  and  rend  asunder 
the  wretch  who  could  thus  taunt  and  insult  him  iu  the  hour  of  his  profound 
misery,  but  he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  nor  was  it  until  he  had  remarked  a 
basket,  containing  provisions,  descending  immediately  over  his  own  room,  that 
he  could  understand  whence  the  voice  proceeded.  When  the  basket  reached 
the  floor,  a  sudden  spring  released  the  rope,  which  was  hauled  suddenly  up, 
and  the  trap  reclosed.  The  voice  had  seemingly  come  from  the  open- 
ing in  the  passage  ;  but  now  it  was  clear,  although  nobody  was  seen,  that  it 
had  proceeded  from  above.  The  conviction  that  they  were  thus  to  be  con- 
fined and  nourished  through  life,  or  until  .some  unforeseen  (^hance  should 
deliver  them,  was  now  apparent.  It  struck  upon  Abdallah's  heart  with 
fearful  force,  and  alternately  ho  raved  and  wept,  aiid  frantically  paced  the 
apartment. 

The  Lady  Ernestina,  leaning  her  head  against  the  bars,  watched  his 
every  movement.  As  he  moved,  her  glance  followed.  She  had  no  eyes  but 
for  him.  They  could  not  rest  on  any  other  object.  At  length  a  sudden 
thought  occurred  to  the  Monk-Knight.  He  darted,  almost  flew  to  the  inner 
chamber,  and  drew  from  it  the  low  but  capacious  couch  which  nightly  re- 
ceived his  limbs — this  he  placed  against  the  grating. 

"  Let  us  wring  comfort  from  despair,  beloved  one,"  he  said,  in  a  deep  and 
hollow  tone.  ''  At  least  we  may  always  be  near  each  other — to  gazt^  into 
each  other's  eyes — to  speak  to  each  other's  heart.  If  then  those  fair  and 
fragile  hands  can  find  the  strength  to  do  even  as  I  have  done,  that  even  do. 
If  we  are  doomed  by  de  Boiscourt,  whose  cruelty  I  scarce  can  credit,  even 
though  much  I  have  deserved  it,  to  perish  thus,  let  not  a  moment  of  our  lives 
be  lost  in  tasting  of  the  shade  of  joy  that  yet  remains." 

In  some  degrqe  comforted  by  the  new  thought,  which  she  wiis  astonished 
had  not  sooner  occurred  to  either  of  them,  the  Lady  Ernestina,  after  some 
little  time  spent  in  the  effort,  succeeded  in  drawing  her  own  couch,  similar 
in  height  and  size  and  form,  opposite  to  that  of  Abdallah's  ;  both  leaving  a 


THK    MONK    KNIGHT    OK    ST.    JOHN. 


1.51 


spaco  l)etwocn  thr  lu-ails  of  the  bcdstcad.s  and  the  wall  large  enough  to  con- 
tain a  table,  on  which,  in  order  to  li.sc  as  little  time  as  powible  from  each 
other,  they  placed  such  refreshments  as  they  were  likely  moat  to  need. 

And  thus,  oh  heaven  !  they  lay — the  majestic  husband  and  the  glowincr 
but  much-exhausted  wife,  side  by  side,  and  separated  only  by  the  cold,  un- 
feeling iron  that  seemed  to  frown  displeasure  on  their  murmured  prayers  for 
its  removal.  A  space  of  not  a  span  in  breadth  divided  them  ;  and  yet, had  one 
been  cleaving  heads  and  counting  beads  in  Palestine,  as  had  been  his  wont ;  and 
the  other,  toying  in  tender  dalliance  with  the  sweet  Henriette,  in  the  boudoir 
of  the  castle,  while  sighing  forth  her  soul  for  the  absent  one,  they  could 
not  have  been  more  asunder.  But  the  one  redeeming  joy  remained,  and  with 
tears  of  gratitude  the  Lady  Ernestina  thanked  the  God  of  all  goodness  for  its 
possession.  Her  arm  extended  so  far  through  the  bar  that  she  could  embrace 
the  fevered  foma  of  her  husband,  as  thrilling  under  her  touch  it  heaved  con- 
vulsively. But  then,  as  she  gazed  into  his  eyes,  and  marked  the  large  dropa 
of  agony  that  lingered  on  his  not  now  benignant  but  distortp'  >.  .^,  her  emo- 
tion became  intense,  and  often  would  she  shed  tears  upon  t.  .nsensate  bars, 
in  the  vain  hope,  sustained  by  love  alone,  that  rusting  beneath  the  oft-repeated 
moisture,  they  might  be  made  to  yield  to  the  strength  of  Abdallah's  arm. 
But  no  such  comfort  came,  and,  in  the  end,  the  wild  feeling  of  their  misery 
became  unendurable. 

"  I  can  no  more,"  groaned  Abdallah.  "  Could  I  even  pass  my  hand 
through  these  most  cruel  and  unpitying  bars,  one  half  this  monstrous  weight 
of  misery  would  be  removed.  We  then,  sweetest,  should  be  half,  if  not 
wholly  comforted.  But  ah  !  it  cannot  be — and  yet,  there  is  no  sacrifice 
short  of  Heaven,  that  I  would  not  make  to  press  that  foi'm  once  more  to 
mine— even  to  the  rending  of  my  own  flesh  with  my  own  nails,  till  scarce  an 
inch  remained  upon  these  aching  bones." 

"  Oh !  what  shall  I  dot"  frantically  exclaimed  the  Lady  Ernestina.  "  In- 
spire me.  Providence — teach  me,  Heaven  !  Pour  into  my  soul  the  undis- 
covered knowledge  of  the  means  to  spare  his  torture.  My  thought  is  wild. 
His  head  must  pillow  on  my  burning  bosom.  Relief  he  must  find  within 
these  arms,  or  both  must  surely  die." 

"  One  hope  more !"  he  resumed.  "  Here  are  two  tubes  of  parchment : 
take  one,  place  it  to  your  lips,  and  let  me  inhale  the  ambrosial  breath  of  my 
beloved." 

Eagerly  she  seized  and  applied  her  lips  to  one  end  of  the  tube.  The 
effect  in  their  excited  and  restricted  state  was  startling.  Their  breathing 
into  each  other's  lips  was  like  liquid  fire  distilled  into  their  veins.  It  was 
the  first  ti  ne  since  their  confinement  that  they  had  tasted  each  other's  breath. 
Instilled  as  it  now  was  into  their  already  burning  souls,  it  set  them  wild. 
Both,  as  if  actuated  by  one  common  impulse,  sprang  from  their  couches,  and 
stood  facing  each  other  through  the  open  bars.  Their  excitement  was  ifear- 
ful,  and  yet  they  gloried  in  the  poison  that  was  slowly  killing  them. 
Again  the  tube  was  passed  that  they  might  the  better  approach  each  other, 
sUnding  as  they  did.  The  Lady  Ernestina  was  compelled,  in  order  to  pre- 
vent her  from  sinking  to  the  floor,  to  cling  with  her  left  hand  to  the  bars, 
while  her  right  arm  was  passed  through  to  the  very  shoulder  with  such 


!  : 


152 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OK    ST.    JOHN, 


eanestoess  of  desire  to  embrace  all  she  could  ot  the  I'urni  of  her  beloved, 
that  her  breast  was  indented  with  the  shape  of  the  interposing  iron.  Almost 
fainting  under  the  intensity  of  his  vast  love,  he  devoured  her  hand  with 
kisses  that  were  of\en  turned  into  bites,  while  the  strange  admixture  of  calm 
and  passionate  expression  om  his  brow,  on  which,  moreover,  stood  large 
drops  of  agony,  was  fearful  to  behold. 

Despondency  was  in  the  inmost  heart  of  the  Lady  Erneatina.  She  sank 
on  her  knees  in  bitterness,  and  wept  profoundly. 

Anxious  to  console  her,  and  heedless  of  the  futility  of  a  hundred  previous 
attempts  to  accomplish  the  same  object,  the  Monk  sank  on  his  knees  also, 
and  endeavored,  with  his  soothing  hand,  to  reach  the  object  of  his  soul's 
worship.  To  his  astonishment,  he  partially  succeeded,  the  hand  and  arm 
passing  through  as  high  as  the  joint  of  the  elbow,  but  no  farther ;  and  when 
the  Lady  Ernestina,  whose  head  was  bowed  in  unutterable  sorrow  to  the 
ground,  first  felt  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder,  she  started  a»  if  some  sharp 
instrument  had  pierced.her  ;  then,  uttering  a  siiriek  of  ugonized  delight,  she 
lay  clinging  to  the  bars,  trembling,  palpitating,  breathing,  as  if  those  mo- 
ments were  to  be  her  last.  It  happened  that  the  perpendicular  of  the  bars, 
still  firmly  imbedded  as  ever,  had  not  strictly  been  preserved  at  this  point, 
so  that  the  Monk-Knight  had  managed  to  get  his  naked  arm  through  as  far 
as  the  elbow,  but  no  farther. 

From  that  moment,  the  couches  were  made  to  occupy  that  spot,  and  oppo- 
site to  each,  and  no  language  can  paint  the  depth  of  the  emotion  of  both, 
when  the  Monk-Knight's  hand  first,  after  such  long  privation,  wandered 
over  the  bosom  of  the  mother  of  his  child.  All  other  senses  were  absorl)ed 
in  that  of  touch.  The  most  passionate  endearments  were  theirs,  lor  n)iitually 
they  caressed  each  other  with  a  tenderness  unequalled,  and  the  more  in- 
toxicating by  reason  of  the  limit  imposed  upon  the  means  of  gratification 
of  their  tempestuous  love.  Their  sighs  of  hapj>iness  at  this  new  and  precious 
discovery  were  breathed  through  the  tube  that  connected  lip  with  lip. 


f 


'■^'k 


.  »nwi*<*>  tm  »'U,  i^i^ti^^-^^i^Td  - 


THE  MONK   KNIGHT   OF   ST.   JOHN. 


163 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 


For  more  than  a  fortnight  had  matters  remained  in  this  state.  Daily  the 
Lady  Ernestina  was  advancing  in  her  pregnancy,  and  Abdallah  s  mind  was 
distracted  not  only  by  his  forebodings,  but  the  stingings  of  his  increased  love 
for  her.  She  had  become  so  dear  to  him,  that  it  was  agony  to  continue 
longer  asunder  from  her.  Language  cannot  depict  his  feelings,  or  tell  how 
vast  was  the  extent  of  his  love.  It  was  a  disease — it  carried  slow  death  in  its 
suppression — for,  if  possible,  his  position  had  become  even  worse  than  it  was 
when  he  was  without  the  power  to  pass  his  arm  through  the  bars.  Now,  he 
was  tantalized  by  constant  recurrence  to  those  well-remembered  charms  which 
hourly  maddened  him  on  their  utter  removal  from  his  possession  ;  he  became 
absolutely  ill,  and  a  high  fever  coursed  through  his  veins. 

"  Abdallah  !  oh  Abdallah  !  what  can  I  do?"  exclaimed  the  Lady  Ernes- 
tina,  as  she  wound  her  arm  around  him  with  all  the  energy  of  deep  passion, 
*•  what — what  can  I  do  to  cool  this  fever  of  your  blood  1  1  would  sacrifice 
life  a  thousand  times — aye,  dearer  far  than  that,  I  would  sacrifice  these 
charms — my  child — to  the  most  loathsome  thing  that  ever  wore  the  human 
form,  if  my  reward  were  but  the  rendinfr  asunder  of  those  hateful  bars.  Oh '. 
know  you  not,"  she  said  fiercely,  pressing  the  hand  that  lingered  in  hei 
own — "  know  you  not  some  words  of  sorcery  in  your  own  Eastern  land,  that 
might  call  down  a  ghoul — a  vampire — Satan  himself— unto  my  arms,  that  by  so 
overloading  him  with  my  sweets,  my  teemiiig  woman's  love,  1  may  win 
him  in  blissful  dalliance  to  rend  these  bars,  and  bear  us  hence  for  ever ;  or, 
let  him  assume  the  shape  of  a  toad,  or  the  serpent  that  wooed  the  tender 
Eve  to  passion,  and  I  will  so  gorge  him  with  plenteousness  of  delight  that 
very  ugliness,  fostered  by  myself,  will  become  exceeding  beauty." 

Suddenly  as  she  spoke  these  words,  fiercely,  and  with  strong  excitement 
of  manner,  the  trap-door  above  her  own  head  was  heard  to  open.  Both  she 
and  the  Monk-Knight  looked  up,  hoping  yet  fearing,  they  knew  not  what. 

"  A  temporary  relief  from  the  purgatory  to  which  you  have  through  your 
own  will  subjected  yourselves,  may  be  yours  on  one  condition,"  said  a  well- 
known  voice.     It  was  de  Boiscourt's. 

"  Name  it,"  said  the  Lady  Ernestina  eagerly,  and  half  rising  from  her 
pillow.  "Anything — everything  to  bring  comfort  to  my  soul's  lord:  ay, 
even  though  it  be — as  well  1  know  it  is — to  receive  into  these  arms  the 
man  I  most  hate." 

"  It  is  !"  said  de  Boiscourt,  fiercely.  "  From  this  I  have  watched  you 
throughout ;  and  hate  for  the  very  love  you  bear  that  treacherous  Monk 
which  would  induce  you  to  do  this,  gives  a  piquancy  to  my  desire,  such  as  I 
never  felt  for  you,  even  when  you  loved  me  most.  As  ghoul,  or  vampire, 
or  Satan,  is  not  here,  to  quench  the  tumult  of  your  passion,  far  better  take  a 
goodly  and  a  proper  man — one  most  meet  to  riot  in  your  woman's  gorgeous- 
ness." 

"  Then,  come,  mere  lecher — hated  of  my  soul,    Enjoy  your  triumph. 


i| 


d 


ni 


151 


THE    M(>\K    KMiill  I 


lOlIN 


Revel  in  tiiis  beauty  if  V'"*  will ;  l)iii  know  ili;it  m  llic  liiiiieiM  ol'  tlu'  l'i!t;liii^ 
you  piKvoke  I  imomI  ttliall  loatlu^  you — inont  sluili  l)i'  AlMlailiiirH.  Only  iny 
stroiit;  lovt!  for  him  iiuiutTs*  my  ooimcnt." 

"  Ml'  it  HO,'  said  tlie  IJiiroii,  "  I  hccil  ii  u<ii  ludecil  I  rathur  like  tlui 
]>it]Uiiiit  tli()u<{lit.  It  will  in  suinc  dc^rt'c  rcaliM'  tlie  double  inarruge  I  pro- 
posed to  you.'' 

'■  H»'8ot  me  not  with  speech,  de  Uoiwcourt.  Your  wnrda  and  voice  sound 
/latcful  in  my  ear.  When  come  you'  Let  it  be  instant  or  my  resolve  may 
chanffi'." 

"This  night."' 

"  This  nigiit  I  The  night  iis  long,  and  love's  impatience  great.  Each 
instant  of  delay  is  I'raughv  with  death  to  him  I  love.  Come  quickly— come 
within  the  hour — come  now  !" 

"  Within  the  hour  expect  me,"  answered  the  Baron. 

"  Then  within  the  hour  extinguish  every  lamp,  which,  1  perceive,  is 
lighted  from  above.  In  utter  darkness  you  must  come,  for  else  each  sense 
unwilling  would  hate  to  ratify  the  compait  which  my  lips  pronounce.  It 
you  have  pity  stay  not  past  the  hoii' — ay,  within  the  hour  I  pray  you  come. 
But  liohl,  how  often  then  am  I  to  see  Abdullah  thus? — him,  my  soul — the 
dearest  heart-string  of  my  life.     Remember,  put  out  the  light." 

"  Yes,"  said  de  Hoiscourl,  bitterly,  "  even  that  your  licentious  soul  may 
fancy  the  obscene  ghoul  feasting  on  your  sweets,  or  the  winged  vampire  fed 
by  suction,  drawing  that  blood  which  should  go  to  the  nurture  of  the  priestly 
l«ad  you  bear.  Or,  mayhap  your  imagination  loves  to  mate  with  Satan, 
while  the  woman's  soul  triumphs  in  the  power  to  draw  a  fallen  angel  to  her 
arms,  and  gloats  incessant  in  comparison." 

"  Your  idle  words  alFect  niu  not,  de  Boiscourl.  Ransom  you  have  asked 
—rich  ransom  shall  you  receive.  But  you  have  not  said,  how  soon  that  debt 
being  paid,  the  portal  of  his  heaven  shall  be  opened  to  Abdallah." 

"  By  to-morrow's  dawn  you  shall  be  joined  with  him,  and  for  ever,  but 
only  in  these  subterranean  tombs  of  happiness.  By  my  knightly  spurs  I 
swear  it." 

"  Ha  !  blessings  on  you  for  that.  Heard  you  it,  Abdallah,  my  lord,  my 
husband.  I  shall  go  mad.  Come  quickly,"  she  said  to  de  Boiscourt,  "  not 
as  one  hated,  but  even  as  one  to  whom  1  owe  the  deeiKist  gratitude  of  a  wo- 
man's soul.     But  you  will  ask  no  more  ?" 

"  No  more  than  what  your  free  consent  may  yield.  Far  within  the  hour 
expect  me." 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said  wildly,  to  Abdallah,  as  the  trap-door  closed  upon  the  - 
departed  Baron,  "have  I  done  right!    Oh!  my  Abdallah,  for  you  I  have 
consented.     For  you  I  will  slay  him  if  you  prefer.     You  have  the  knife. 
Even  such  was  my  thought  when  I  proposed  the  darkness." 

"  My  angel,  Ernestina,"  he  replied,  with  more  of  hia  wonted  calm,  "  I 
know  not  how  it  is,  but  I  delight  to  see  some  better  spirit  has  changed  your 
hatred  to  more  gentle  thoughts.  The  feeling  that  absorbed  your  mind  was 
strange  aiid  most  unnatural,  and  much  I  pitied  to  perceive  it.  De  Boiscourt's 
heart  was  open  as  his  brow.  He  loved  you  to  madness  ;  he  gloried  in  your 
beauty,  and  excellence,  and  constancy,  and  sought  to  reward  all  these  by 


■«y,  ■  ■  -w^ 


nil,    MONK    KNI'JUT    OP    ST.    JOHN. 


ir,5 


giving  A  now  dosirn  lo  llui  Iwiiri  Iw  loved  How  have  we  repaid  hini '  siiid 
yil  W(-  rail  luiu  crui'l,  bfciiixt!  Iin  ilid  Iml  ulij^ht  iiv«Miffo  sucli  mijjlily  wroii){ 
as  lliat  1)1'  ilu!  HiMiiliMij  of  Ins  own  ha|»piiifHrt.  AiwayH  for  ihm  has  my  con- 
8*M»'iuT  Ml  r»!|iroii(!li(ul  lilt!.  All'  you  Iwl  the  truth  of  my  words — you 
w'H'j) — your  heart  -sol'lfim." 

Suddenly  the  Monk  Mtopimd.  'I'ho  [\fi\nn  wcri;  extinguishwl,  loavinf,'  ducp 
darkntss  in  their  :jtead.  A  weight  waa  heard  det^-ondiiiK  from  tlio  trap-door. 
Deep  einolioii  was  in  the  hearts  of  the  hustiand  and  wife.  The  arm  of  the 
l>ady  I'irnestina  wound  itwdf  inoru  clusuly  round  the  heaving  form  of  the 
M(ink-Kiii),'lit.  The  tuho  pasaed  from  lip  to  lip,  conveyed  words  that  maiie 
Abiiailah  press  more  fervently  to  his  boating  heart,  the  hand  he  held  a  will- 
ing prisoner.  In  another  minute  that  hand  trembled  in  his  own,  signifutrntly 
giving;  warning  that  the  Maron  had  come  to  claim  the  price  of  their  re-union. 

Oil  what  further  passed  on  thai  eventful  night — v\hat  explanations  were  en- 
tered into  renewing  the  broken  bond  of  love  and  fnendsiiip,  or  on  what  arrange- 
ment made,  the  manuscript  is  silent ;  further  than  that,  :is  the  distant  castle 
clock  discoursed  the  early  hour  of  dawn,  the  Uaroii  and  the  Monk  might  be 
aeen  by  the  faint  light  of  a  lamp,  which  the  latter  had  brought  with  him, 
with  hand  clasped  in  hand,  and  bending  over  the  pale  face  and  motionloss 
form  of  the  Lady  Erncstina,  who,  with  an  enchanting  smile  upon  her  lips, 
and  slight  contortion  of  the  brow,  which  those  well  read  in  love  would  at 
once  have  pronounced  intensity  of  feeling,  had  fainted  in  the  fulness  of  her 
sudden  change  from  despair  to  h»\H'. 

The  next  day  (lillowing  that  dawn  was  one  of  great  rejoicing  in  the  cha- 
teau. The  return  of  the  Haron  de  Boiscourt  from  Palestine  wiis  publicly 
announced — his  claim  to  the  Lady  Ernestina's  hand  made  good — the  second 
marriage  annulled  by  the  very  bishop  who  had  performed  the  rite,  and  the 
Monk-Knight  had  disapptiared.  But  soon  in  his  place  there  came  one  of 
equally  stalwart  frame,  and  much  resembling  him  in  feature,  but  of  a  deeper 
complexion  of  the  Moorish  dye.  Many  opened  their  eyes  and  stared,  and 
wondered  at  the  great  resemblance  in  dignity  of  demeanor  of  the  stranger 
with  the  second  husband  of  the  Ludy  Ernestina  ;  but  when  they  heard  him  in- 
troduced publicly  as  the  Italian  Monk  Gonzales,  by  the  Baron  himself,  an 
old  brother  warrior,  who  had  more  than  once  interposed  between  himself  and 
death  in  Palestine,  and  wh.)  had  now  left  the  sword  for  the  cowl,  and  for 
ever,  there  no  longer  cxistec  a  doubt,  and  content  and  happiness,  such  as  fall 
to  the  lot  of  few  women,  in  u  world  in  which  man's  will  rules  predominant, 
wae  the  lot  of  the  Lady  Ernestina. 

Strange,  indeed,  are  the  vicissitudes  of  human  feeling — wayward  and  er- 
ratic the  course  of  the  passions,  which,  like  fiery  meteors,  scorch  up  the  soul 
they  first  enlighten.  It  seeme<l  to  the  Lady  Ernestina  like  the  faint  memory 
of  some  distant  dream  that  she  had  ever  ceased  to  regard  the  generous  de 
Boiscourt  but  with  that  ardent  friendship  which  his  noble  self-sacrifice  so 
well  deserved.  Her  estrangement  had  been  a  disease  growing  wholly  out  of 
the  intensity — the  exclusive  intensity  of  her  love  for  Abdallah.  Carried 
away  by  the  increasing  waywardness  of  that  love,  she  had  only  become  iii- 
<hfferent  lo  him  on  his  return,  because  her  constant  nature  could  not  endure 
the  thought  of  a  second  breathing  in  her  ear  those  words  of  passion,  which 


i 


Ik 


I 


i: 


IflC 


THi:    Mf  \K    KVl.lIT    (  !•■    ^T.    JliHN. 


I    V1 


her  (It'licafvof  apiirt'lH'riHKiri  laupht  Ikt  wire  «iiily  iiriceless  in  their  exclu»ive- 
lU'Ni.  By  ilegrt'«'8  this  Cwliiig  increiuwtl,  aii<l  aeciuiriMl  a  certain  aurerbity, 
which  (iiially,  Miing  as  she  was  by  tlie  keen  sarcaMn  of  Iht!  Baron,  settled  in 
u  Benliineiit  of  tlerj)  hatred  and  aversion.  Hut  when  he  ((hiddened  herheart 
with  the  intelli(;eiire  that  Ai)dallah  and  iiersi'if  were  to  be  united  that  night, 
never  more  to  suffer  the  tortures  of  the  daiiwied  behind  those  unpitying  bars, 
lier  soul,  as  if  aete<l  upon  by  enchantineiit,  worned  and  loathed  the  un- 
worthy s<-ntiinent,  which  her  intense  passion,  and  indifTerencc  to  all  but  the 
one  ol)ject  of  her  devoted  love  had  led  her  to  entertain.  Often  in  the  presence 
of  her  confessor,  the  Monk  (.Joir/ales,  would  she  weep  tears  of  regret  on 
his  hosorn,  for  the  cruel  language  she  had  used  to  her  husband  on  his  re- 
turn. But  de  Boiscourt  would  fondly  press  her  to  his  heart,  and  a»jk  Gonzales 
if  all  was  not  for  the  best,  inasmuch  as  the  very  course  taken  by  events  had 
led  to  .>50  happy  a  termination.  The  approving  smile  and  voice  of  the  now 
again  serene  and  benevolent  Monk,  would,  as  often,  and  in  various  ways, 
endorse  the  opinion  of  his  friend,  and  then  the  Lady  Ernestina,  her  features 
radiant  with  tiie  full  and  unrestrained  glow  of  happiness,  and  looking  more 
lovely  and  impassioned  than  ever,  exclaim,  as  she  fondly  pressed  a  hand  of 
ei'ch  : 

"  Ah  I  what  have  I  done  to  deserve  this  vast,  this  unspeakable  bliss  ! 
How  is  it  that  sucli  intense,  such  strange,  wild,  mysterious,  hallowed  joy 
has  been  given  to  me  in  the  possesssion  of  the  enduring  love  of  two  such 
noble  beings?" 

A  grajid  fete  was  given  iit  the  chateau,  in  honor  of  the  Baron's  re-itiarriage, 
UQ  the  very  day  when  the  Monk  Gonzales  first  made  his  appearance.  On  this 
occasion  of  ceremony,  he  wore,  in  compliment  to  the  re-united  couple,  not 
the  plain  dress,  that  ever  after  distinguished  him,  but  the  magnificent  habit 
of  a  Monk-warrior  of  St.  John,  which  exceedingly  became  his  tall  and  ma- 
jestic person.  An  eight-pointed  cross,  of  purest  white  enamel,  and  emblem 
of  his/position  in  the  Order,  depended  from  his  ample  chest. 

De  Boiscourt  himself  was  dressed  in  the  costume  of  his  knighthood,  with 
all  the  stars  and  badges  of  distinction,  and  these  were  not  a  few,  which  he 
had  won  as  the  leader  of  the  brave  but  diseidute  men  of  Auvergne.  Once 
more  his  spirits  were  light,  and  his  manner  animated,  and  many  a  soft  word 
he  breathed  in  the  ear  of  the  gentle  Henriette,  now  grown  into  the  fulness 
of  womanhood,  and  evidently  not  untouched  by  the  words  of  more  than  mere 
gallantry,  which  the  Baron  whispered  into  her  ear. 

On  her  part,  the  voluptuous  girl  was  beautifully  dressed  also.  Her  long, 
dark  and  luxuriant  hair  fell  in  a  profusion  of  rich  curls,  over  her  snow-white 
and  but  partially  covered  shoulders,  while  lier  costume,  enaliantingly  fitted, 
and  of  a  light  material,  admirably  set  off  the  contour  of  her  form.  In  her  hair 
was  a  single  white  rose,  so  piquantly  disposed  as  to  give,  from  its  proximity 
to  it,  additional  lustre  to  her  dark  and  peculiarly  expressive  eye. 

As  for  the  Lady  Ernestina,  she  has  been  described  once,  and  in  such 
colors,  that  to  repeat  would  be  to  mar  the  picture  of  her  loveliness,  such  as 
it  must  even  now  linger  on  the  memory  of  those  who  have  perused  it.  The 
perfection  of  her  beauty,  and  the  excellence  of  lier  style  of  adornment  must 
be  lelt  to  the  imagination  of  those  who,  like  ourselves,  have  so  half  fallen  in 


r  I'-ft    «» ■ 


r'A.'Mit-VifrA  fc*-*-      -    —  •        ••   ■ 


Ti 


THF,    MONK    KNIiiHT    OF    .sT.    lOHN. 


i«r 


love  with  tht!  iii)l)li'  jiiiaiii',  Id  which  lite  ami  siihstaneo  han  been  given,  tha 
Ihny  ii»'i  111  liiT,  whi'ii  ji.-iial  adoriRMl,  adoriioil  tins  most. 

Tht;  I'i'te  was  a  brilliant  oiii>,  and  nil  the  va«aal»  of  the  Baron  had  been  in- 
vited, as  well  as  thimo  of  more  noble  birth  around.  All  had  (,'ladly  aceepled 
an  invitation  so  ciirimis  in  its  eaiise,  and  ptomisiny'  the  fullest  i,'ralification 
•ind  amusement.  As  the  dan'-ini,',  |)ei'uliur  tu  those  days,  eonminnced,  iho 
\i\inif  crowd  [loured  in,  and  as  the  Lady  Krnesliiia  led  oif  the  fete,  she  was 
the  admired  of  all  admirers.  Many  a  brilliant  comiilimcnt  was  paid  tu  h)!r 
mirpas.siii^  beauty  by  the  young  nobles  around,  iiiit  these  she  regarded  only  as 
so  many  otrerinj^s  to  bo  laid  at  the  feet  of  Abdallal.,  who,  loaninif  majestieully 
against  an  oaken  panel,  found  no  pleasure  so  jjreat  as  that  priMlueed  by 
the  admiration  of  others  for  the  beloved  of  hi.s  .soul.  Fre(iuenlly  as  she  glided, 
rather  than  danced,  for  her  situation  rendered  strong  exertion  undesirable, 
anri  replied  to  the  vapid  eompliments  poured  into  her  oar  by  those  who  \\er« 
the  most  earnest  in  their  expression  of  adoration  for  her  beauty,  she  would 
turn  her  speaking  eyes  upoi.  tionzales  with  such  a  volume  of  meaning,  that 
the  Confes.sor  could  with  difieulty  refrain  from  carrying  hor  off  i..  his  arms 
from  the  meaningless  festivity  in  which  she  was  engaged. 

Hul  ho  was  not  always  lef  .ilonc  to  indulge  his  me(Jitatioii8  Many  a 
beautiful  and  captivating  dame  oi'  Auvergne,  of  high  degree,  cast,  some  their 
brigiit.and  some  their  languishing  glances  over  his  manly  form,  and  clo^'.iy 
watched  his  bearing  with  the  Lady  Ernestina.  They  knew  that  ti  .c  monk 
had  revelled  in  her  arms,  and  therefore,  with  monkish  taste  .so  formed,  why 
not  another?  No  time  or  age  had  been  marked  by  such  cxtrenu;  licentious- 
ness— not  love,  not  desire,  for  one  loved  object  raged  within  the  heart,  but 
sheer  liccntiousneBs. 

One  there  was  within  that  festive  hall  who  danced  not,  spoke  not,  but  ke  ,1, 
her  eyes  riveted  on  Gonzales.  She  saw  the  glances  of  intense  Ittvc  ili  .t 
passed  between  the  Confessor  and  the  Lady  Krnestina.  She  saw  in  his  eyes 
the  fire  of  more  than  mortal  man.  Her  own  fierce  passion  was  enkindled. 
She  moved  towards  him,  and  as  she  moved  she  looked  a  queen. 

"  Holy  Father,"  she  said,  in  a  low  but  decided  tone,  as,  drawing  her  arm 
through  his,  she  led  him  through  a  corridor  to  the  garden,  where  hatPber  .> 
erected  many  arbors  of  luxurious  repose — "  I  have  much  to  confess  to  you. 
Pardon  the  occasion  of  which  I  would  fain  avail  myself." 

"  All  times  and  places  are  suited  to  our  holy  duty,"  returned  Gonzales, 
cahuly.     "  Yet  be  brief.  Lady,  the  festive  party  waits." 

"  That  is  to  say,  the  Lady  Ernestina — the  Baroness  dc  Boiscourt  waits," 
significantly  replied  the  Countess  of  Clermont,  a  most  lovely  woman. 
"  Hear  me,  Monk,"  she  said,  when  they  had  seated  then .  '■'  's  in  one  of 
these  little  bosquets,  "  I  am  not  jealous  of  the  Baroness,  ii..;  ;oo  love  you  ; 
my  heart  is  torn  with  desire  for  you,  and  I  have  beauty  equal  to  that  of  the 
Baroness,  which  I  know  will  be  yours  this  night." 

"This  night!"  said  Gonzales,  startled  at  the  stru.ge  announcemeiit,  so 
strangely  made. 

"  Yes,  this  night."  ' 

"  But,  findy,  how  know  you  this'" 


• 


12 


168 


THK    MONK    KNIOHT    Of    ST.    JOHN. 


"  Yoilr  eyes  thpmeelvcis  informed  me — your  mutual  glances  kindlod  my 
desire.     Oh  .'  have  pity,  but  for  once,  and  then  absolve  our  mutual  sin." 

"  It  cannot  be.  Lady,"  said  the  Monk,  with  dignity.  "  I  pray  you  return 
with  me  to  the  chateau.  The  gueets  will  wonder  at  our  absence,  too  long 
delayed." 

"  Oh  !  yet  one  minute  stay,"  entreated  the  Countess.  "  Only  grant  my 
prayer.  I  ask  no  more." 

"  Impossible,"  said  the  Monk,  utterly  confounded  at  her  perseveraiwe 
"  Reaillect  my  sacred  calling — my  duty  to  the  confessional." 

"  Even  promise,"  resumed  the  Countess,  with  the  deep  intonation  of 
aroused  passion,  "  that  to-morrow  eve  shall  make  me  sharer  in  the  bliss 
designed  to-night  for  her  for  whom  your  soul  is  now  enkindled  ;  say — say, 
will  you,  to-morrow  eve,  repair  to  Clermont  and  seek  my  confessional. 
Oh  !  do,  in  mercy  do." 

She  knelt  at  his  feet — she  placed  his  hand  upon  her  throbbing  heart,  but 
Gonzales,  with  a  shudder  of  disgnst  withdrew  it,  aud  hurriedly  re-enterod 
the  chateau,  slowly  followed  by  the  disoomfited  and  revenge-breathing 
Countess. 


h:f' 


;      I 


CHAPTER    XXX. 


h  i) 


In  the  interim  of  Gronzales'  short  interview  with  the  Countess,  some  ex- 
citement had  been  created  by  the  arrival  of  two  strangers  from  the  Holy 
I^and,  attired  in  the  garb  of  pilgrims  and  deeply  sun-burnt.  The  travollors  had 
sent  in  the  announcement  of  their  condition,  but  not  their  name,  claiming 
hospitality  until  dawn.  The  Baron,  ever  interested  in  all  things  connected 
with  the  Holy  I^and,  in  which  he  had  so  long  served,  hastened  himself  to 
greet  the  new  comers,  who  were  even  then  crossing  the  lawn  in  front  of 
the  chateau. 

"  Oh  I  my  dear  Lord,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  once  again,"  exclainr-Mi  the 
more  youthful,  bounding  forward  to  salute  the  Baron,  "  for  I  feared  we 
should  never  reach  Auve  r'e.     How  delighted  I  am." 

"  Good  hepven,  Kiidolpi. !     My  dear  boy  come  to  my  arms." 

The  page  did  as  enjoined,  and  tears  of  happiness  coursed  rapidly  down  his 
cheeks,  as  he  felt  the  well-known  embrace  of  his  master  whom  he  had  so 
long  lamented  as  dead. 

"  Ah  !  is  it  possible,"  he  exclaimed.  "  How  long  have  I  mourned  your 
loss  ?" 

"  Miraculously  preserved  even  as  yourself,  Rudolph,  it  would  seem,  but 
we  will  talk  of  this  later.  Who  is  your  companion  '  and  he  looked  intently 
at  one  who,  habited  in  the  same  garb,  was  more  matured  in  person.  "  Can 
it  indeed  be  possible.     Is  it  shel" 

"  Even  so,  my  Lord,  The  favorite  wife  of  Saladin  that  wa»— the  only 
and  adored  wife  of  Rudolph  that  is." 

"  The  wife  of  Saladin  your  wife  '—what  bmu>  you.  Rudolph <" 


<^1 


•iw 


fWML 


THK    MONK    KNIOHT    OK    ST.    JOHN. 


159 


"  I  mean — but  ah'  where  is  Abdallah?" 

"  Hush  !  not  a  word  of  Abdallah,  as  you  love  rae,  Rudolph.  Him  whom 
you  will  soon  sec,  you  must  know  as  Gonzales.  Remember  Gonzales — the 
Italian  Monk  Gonzales.  Answer  then  :  how  is  the  wife  of  Saladin  your 
wife?" 

"  Have  you  not  htiard  of  his  death  T'' 

"  Say  you  so  !  Never  knew  1  augrht  of  it  until  this  moment.  And  is, 
then,  the  preat  warrior  dead  ?" 

"  He  is  ;  ols*;  had  not  Zulcima  left  him.  He  was  too  kind,  too  good,  too 
penerou.s,  to  be  basely  abandoned  by  those  whom  most  he  loved.  At  his 
death  he  gave  me  freedom  and  great  means  to  return  to  my  native  land, 
but  what  were  means  and  freedom  witiiout  the  gentle  Zuleima?  She  con- 
sented to  become  mine — embraced  Christianity,  and  now  awaits  the  priestlv 
action  of  her  brother  to  make  her  Rudolph's  wife." 

"  Of  her  brother  I  what  brother  !  You  have  returned  full  of  mystery, 
Rudolph,  or  surely  too  much  joy  has  made  you  mad." 

"  What !  has  not  Abdallah  told  you  that  Zulcima — she  whom  you  both 
saved  from  Thibaud  and  his  vile  associates,  wasdear  to  him  as  his  sister?" 

The  Union  reflected  a  moment.  There  was  a  reason  for  Abdallah's  si- 
lence in  regard  to  one  whom  lu;  never  expected  to  behold  more.  He  recol- 
lected the  adventure  in  his  tci't.  He  was  aware  that  Abdallah  knew  it  also. 
This,  therefore,  accounted  for  his  silence  in  regard  to  her. 

"  Go,  dear  Rudolph,  embrace  the  Baroness  and  Henriette.  They  will  not  be 
a  little  surprised  to  sec  you,  and  in  that  gwirb ;  but  no  matter,  cover  them  both 
with  kisses  and  good  greetings,  while  I  take  charge  of  this  your  bride,  and 
introduce  her  to  the  company.  Say  not  a  word  of  her  arrival,  or  who  she  is." 

So  saying,  he  advanced  towards  the  expectant  Zuleima,  and  sinking  at  her 
feet,  fervently  kissed  her  hand.  Her  intercourse  with  Rudolph  had  given 
her  a  tolerably  fair  knowledge  of  tlie  French  language,  so  that  she  could 
sufficiently  understand  him,  when  with  a  pressure  of  her  hand,  which  threw 
the  crimson  into  her  cheek,  for  it  brought  back  to  recollection  all  the  past, 
he  told  her  that  he  would  present  her  to  his  wife,  who  would  be  as  a  sister 
and  a  friend  to  her  for  ever. 

Gratefully  kissiig  liis  hand,  she  took  the  profl'ered  arm  of  the  Baron,  and 
they  entered  the  crowded  halls,  wlierc  giiety,  in  all  its  manifold  forms,  wa» 
doing  jusiico  to  the  intentions  of  the  princely  entertainer.  When  they  crosse* 
the  tiire.shold,  the  eyes  of  Zuloiiua,  accustomed  even  as  they  were  to  Eastert 
splendor  and  magnificen^ie,  were  dazzled  at  the  sight.  Soon,  as  she  glanced 
around,  she  saw  a  crowd  surrounding  one  object  of  curiosity  and  interest.  A3 
she  drew  nearer  she  observed  Rudolph,  who  presented  a  marked  cotitrast  ia 
his  pilgrim's  nArh,  and  with  a  iai^.:  pack  upon  his  shoulder,  hanging  round 
llie  neck  of  u  woman,  whose  exceeding  loveliness  so  excited  her  interest, 
kH  unmixed  wilii  a  scarcely  acknowledged  shade  of  jealousy,  that  she  in- 
quired of  de  Boisconrt,  eagerly,  who  she  was. 

"  That,  duarest  Zuleima,"  said  the  Baron,  "  is  the  lady  to  whom  I  am 
about  to  present  you — my  wife,  the  Lady  Ernestina  dc  Boiscourt.  Is  she 
not  very  beautiful  ?  You  must  lovo  her,  Zuleima— you  must  love  her  verv 
dearly,  for  she  will  lore  you." 


It 


160 


THE    MONK    KNir.HT    Or    ST.    JOHN. 


« 


ir 


P'  1 


mi. 


W:^; 

li 

'a, 

Ij 

* 

■  ' 

1 

1 

' 

"  Ah  I  the  Lady  Ernestina,"'st)e  repeated.  "  Happy  Abdallah  !  Oh  !  yes, 
she  is,  indeed,  l)eautiful — I  love  her  already,  she  looks  so  good.  But  see," 
she  said,  "  pressing  de  Boiscourt's  arm  with  much  significance,  under  the 
pretence  of  hanging  over  and  kissing  Rudolph,  a  woman  raises  her  hand  in 
which  is  a  rose,  and  pours  from  one  of  its  leaves,  some  drops  of  lii\uid  in  her 
ear.  There  are  so  many  heads  together!  cannot  see  her  face.  There — there, 
again  '  <>od  grant  my  fears  be  idle,  Init  such  things  are  often  done  in 
Palestine.*' 

"  What  do  you  mean,  dear  Zuleima,"  said  de  Boiscourt,  eagerly  and  with 
a  voice  of  deep  alarm,  "  I  can  see  nothing — it  must  have  been  your  fancy." 

"  Perhaps  it  was."  she  returned  with  a  sigh — "  God  grant  it  was.  So 
beautiful,  so  sweet  a  woman.  Ah  !  let  me  not  have  loved  her  as  I  do — 
loved  her  as  God  has  intended  one  woman  should  love  another — only  to  lose 
her  for  ever.     But  still  my  eyes  are  very  good,  they  seldom  tell  mo  wrong." 

Almost  wild  from  apprehension  at  her  words,  de  Boi.scourt  rushed  towards 
liis  wife,  w  ith  Zuleima  still  hanging  on  his  arm,  and  inquired  eagerly  if  she  felt 
unwell.  Alarmed  at  the  iiucslion,  tlie  Monk,  who  had  just  entered  the  room 
from  his  oratiuy.  whither  he  had  tor  a  moment  gone  on  leaving  the  Coimtess 
of  <  'lermont,  both  with  a  view  to  avoid  her,  and  to  prevent  remark,  by  the 
appearance  of  undue  attention  to  the  wife  of  his  friend,  now  .ipproached  the 
group.  His  tall  figure  was  conspicuous  above  those  who  surrounded  the 
Lady  Erncstina.  It  was  the  first  time  Zuleima  had  seen  him  sinoe  his  de- 
parture from  the  camp  of  Saladin  at  Tiberias,  on  the  day  following  his  last 
interview  with  her.  Unfortimately  de  Boiscourt  had  forgotten  to  caution  her 
as  he  had  Rudolph,  of  the  necessity  of  concealment  of  his  true  name. 

"  Abdallah  !"  she  shrieked,  rushing  towards  him  with  uplifted  arms. 

All  was  consternation  and  dismay.  The  Monk-Knight  rejected  her  as 
one  whom  he  knew  not.  The  Baron  cursed  his  own  folly  and  forgetfulness. 
The  Lady  PIrnestina,  foreseeing  something  dreadful  in  the  termination  of 
all  Uiis,  had  fainted. 

"  A  gla.ss  of  water  for  the  Baroness,"  said  the  Countess  of  Clermont, 
handing  it  to  the  Monk.  '*  From  no  hand  will  relief  come  to  her  more  grate- 
fully than  from  that  of  him  she  loves." 

In  the  agitation  of  the  moment,  AWallah,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  lost 
his  self-possession ;  scarce  knowing  from  whom  he  received  it,  he  took  the 
glass  and  applied  it  to  the  lips  of  the  pale  and  senseless  Baroness. 

"  Ha  I  Abdallah,  you  have  destroyed  her  you  love,"  again  exclaimed  Zu- 
leima, astoni.shed  at  all  ''•  't  ha»l  passed  before  her.  "  That  glass,"  she  added, 
turning  to  de  Boiscourt,  •  came  from  the  hand  of  the  woman  who  held  the 
rose-leaf  to  her  car." 

"  Say  you  so  !"  shouted  the  Monk,  in  a  voice  of  thunder.—"  Seize  that 
woman — seize  that  murderess  I  Even  now  she  threatened  vengeance  to  the 
Lady  Ernestina,  whose  s    il  she  falsely  deems  is  guilty  as  her  own." 

"  Who  dares  to  charge  to  ine,  is  her  paramour,"  haughtily  exclaimed  the 
Countess,  as  she  came  forward,  holding  in  hei  hand  the  unemptied  glass 
the  Monk  had  returned  to  her.     "That  nothing  but  the  thought  to 


wl. 


yield  ,,iy  little  aid  to  the  Baroness  as  the  faintness  that  overcame  her  beheld 
the  prjof.     See,  friends,  how  falsely  they  accuse  me. 


THE   MONK    KNIOHT    OK    ST.    JOHN. 


161 


So  .saying  she  deliberalely  rais«'d  the  glass  to  her  lipvS  and  slowly  swallowed 
its  contents — then  threw  herself  into  an  attitude  calculated  to  awaken  sym- 
pathy. 

"  A  noble  and  a  falsely  ace  Jiset I  voman,"  said  one, 

"  The  niece  of  our  holy  Hishop  of  Clermont,"  added  another 

"  A  paragon  of  female  virtue,"  vociferated  a  third — a  colossus  with  an 
arm  like  Vulcan,  and  hair  like  the  bristles  of  a  wihl  boar,  who  usually  passed 
the  night  in  her  boudoir,  when  she  was  not  otherwise  engaged. 

"  What  she  siys  is  true."  roared  out  .some  fifty  voices,  the  majority  of 
which  came  from  the  lungs  of  men,  while  the  ladies  joined  in  their  cry. 
••  This  is  no  place  for  moral  people  to  be  found  in.     Let  us  go." 

"  Stop!"  thundered  the  Monk-Knight,  half  maddened  by  the  condition  of 
his  beloved,  yet  perceiving  thi;  necessity  for  prompt  explanation  to  save  the 
honor  iind  peace  of  mind  of  ilu>se  whom  he  most  loved  on  earth.  "  That 
strange  woman  raves,  or  at  least  mistakes  me.  I  am  no  other  than  Gon- 
ziiles,  so  like  unto  Abdalhh,  that  we  have  passed  in  Palestine  as  children  of 
the  same  womb.  Where  is  the  page  Rudolph?  you  see  I  know  him:  let 
him  declare." 

"  What  am  1  asked  V  said  the  boy,  speaking  from  a  distant  part  of  the 
room,  and  coming  up  at  the  same  time. 

"  We  will  question  him  ourselves,"  said  one  of  the  more  noble  guests. 
"Interrupt  up  not,  Monk;  your  innocence  of  this  charge,  which  involves  the 
respectability  of  the  noblest  family  in  Auvergne,  will  best  be  shown  by 
silence.  Rudolph,  we  all  kno'v  and  love  you,  boy,  and  glory  in  the  high 
spirit  that  sent  you  forth,  so  young,  to  fight  for  the  true  faiih  in  Palestine. 
Know  you  that  Monk  ?" 

"  Know  him  !"  said  the  boy,  running  up  to,  and  embracing  him.  "  By 
my  faith,  and  if  I  did  not  know  the  Monk  Gonzales — stay,  \dl  me  look  again 
— yes,  the  Monk  Gonzales,  who  saved  my  life  on  fierce  Tiberias'  battle- 
field— I  were  indeed  ungrateful,"  and  he  flew  in  the  Monk's  arms,  and 
clasped  his  hands  around  his  neck. 

"  The  boy  speaks  truly,  and  with  warmth,"  shouted  one.  "  We  believe 
him ;  yes,  we  believe  what  he  has  said  is  true." 

'■  True  !"  said  Rudolph,  indignantly  ;  "  and  who  shall  dare  to  doubt  the 
statement  that  I  make?  and  yet,  I  well  might  pardon  it,  for  there  was  ano- 
ther in  Palestine — Abdallah  his  name,  and  a  Monk-Knight,  too,  of  such  re 
semblance  to  Gonzales,  that  scarce  his  friends  could  tell  them  separate. 
Wherefore  this  question,  dear  countrymen  of  Auvergne,  I  know  not;  but 
Imlievu  me  when  1  say,  oft  have  I  slept  in  the  same  tent,  and  battled  at  the 
side  of  this  same  Monk.  It  was  he  who,  when  the  scimeter  of  the  Saracei: 
cut  me  to  the  shoulder-blade,  9a>ed  my  life,  that  1  might  vindicate  his  trutl. 
in  fair  Auvergne." 

"  Amiracle!"  amiracle!"  shouted  the  fools  of  the  village,  for  all  villaget< 
have  their  fools. 

"  Ah!  pardon  me.  Sir  Monk!"  said  the  graceful  Zuleima,  kneeling,  and 
with  a  manner  implying  deep  sorrow  for  the  mischief  she  had  so  uninten- 
tionally created.    "  The  first  glance  I  obtained  made  me  think  that  you  were 


11 


162 


THE    MONK    KNKiHT    OK    ST.    JOHN. 


I> 


k\ 


r'' 


>y ->  my  brother,  but  now  I  look  again,  I  see  my  error  ;  you  are  much  darker  than 

Abdallah — oh  1  yes,  a  good  deal  darker." 

"  Then,  if  the  one  is  so  much  darker  than  the  other,"  interposed  a  wise- 
acre of  a  country  lawyer,  scratching  his  head  to  stir  up  his  addled  brains, 
"  how  comes  it — listen  to  this,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  it  is  an  important  point 
in  the  chain  of  evidence — how  comes  it,  I  say,  if  one  is  so  much  darker  than 
the  other,  they  could  not  be  distingushed  even  by  their  friends  ? " 

"  Oh  !  that  is  it,  exactly,  Monsieur  Renard,"  said  Rudolph,  sneeringly, 
"  and  you  have  started  an  objection  that  would  be  unanswerable — only  that 
you  have  not  properly  understood  the  question.  They  could  be  known  well 
enough  when  together ;  but  not  when  seen  alone,  could  any  one  tell  which 
was  Gonzales  or  which  Abdallah.     Do  you  understand  me  now  ?" 

"  Most  brilliantly  explained,"  said  a  multitude  of  voices.  "  Hurra  !  Gon- 
zales and  Rudolph  for  3ver  !  The  Countess  is  wrong  :  our  morals  are  saved. 
Better  one  than  the  other." 

The  cause  of  excitement  over,  the  whole  attention  was  directed  to  the  con- 
dition of  the  Lady  Emestina,  who  had  slowly  recovered  from  her  faintingfit, 
but  who,  finding  herself  too  much  exhausted  to  sustain  the  requirements  of 
the  hostess,  was  even  then  in  the  act  of  withdrawing,  supported  on  the  arm 
of  her  husband,  and  followed  by  Henriette  and  Zuleima.  A  gloom  was 
thus  cast  over  the  entertainments  of  the  evening  ;  and  finally,  the  guests 
overcome  by  ennui,  and  plenteously  stuffed  with  food  and  wine,  gradually 
departed  :  all,  moreover,  perfectly  impressed — and  that  was  the  main  point 
of  interest  at  the  chateau — that  Abdallah  was  not  Abdallah,  but  Gonzales, 
the  preserver  of  the  life  of  their  little  favorite  Rudolph. 

Left  to  themselves,  their  reunion  with  the  long-absent  strangers  would 
have  shed  uninterrupted  joy  over  their  souls,  had  it  not  been  for  the  condition 
of  the  Ijady  Ernestina,  who  had  received  a  much  more  serious  shock  than 
had  at  first  be«n  apprehended.  To  what  comments  were  passed  without,  on 
the  strange  scene  which  had  taken  place,  they  were  not  indifferent,  merely 
because  of  the  position  they  held  as  the  head  of  society  in  Auvergne,  and 
the  necessity  tor  sacrificing  something  to  appearances,  in  a  world  made  up  of 
ap[iearances  and  falsehood  alone.  But  Rudolph,  who  it  has  been  seen  was 
well  known  to,  and  a  great  favorite  with  all  classes  of  people  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, had  of  himself  taken  great  pains  to  ascertain  the  eflfect  produced 
by  the  singular  scene  so  publicly  enacted  at  the  chateau.  The  result  of  his 
indirect  inquiries  and  close  observations  went  to  satisfy  him  that  the  whole 
aflfair,  like  the  nine  days'  wonders  of  the  fools  of  the  present  age,  had  to 
tally  passed  away  from  their  recollection.  He  had  sagacity  enough  to  pei- 
ueive,  from  the  anxiety  manifested  by  tlioso  who  were  immediately  interested 
tlie  precise  footing  on  which  .Mxlallah  stood  with  the  sweet  wife  of  his 
friend,  and  indeed  it  could  not  well  have  been  otherwise,  for  it  will  be  re- 
memliered,  he  had  been  informed  by  Abdallah  himself,  that  he  was  to  espouse 
the  Lady  Kriie.stina — the  Baron  heinj,'  auiiptiaed  slain — on  his  return  from  the 
Holy  Lund.  That  lie  had  done  .so,  and  that  tint  evils  had  resulted  wiiich  it 
h;i8  been  shown  did  take  place,  his  ready  perception  enabled  him  correctly 
enough  to  judge.  It  was  this  quickness  of  apprehension  which,  awuru  at  he 
of  course  was,  of  tite  Baron's  marital  right,  had  led  him  at  once  to  umlersuou 


I'lM 


i  I 


'M 


'•  •■  'ii 


T-iV.    MONK     KMOHI 


'T.    J(iH.\. 


103 


the  motive  ol  <l<'  IJn.scoun's  itijuiiction  lu  si'>'ii'-.y  in  rtJi^anl  ;ii  tlie  true  iinmc 
of  the  confessor  Gonzales.  Tliis,  also,  it  was,  whicli  liad  '  (nieo  pointed  out 
the  important  servic'  he  should  render  to  all  parties,  h\  :  iiiaining  that  lie 
was  not  Abilallah.  Kudolph  was  the  soul  ot  truth  v  re  it  eoneerned  liirn- 
self.  To  depart  from  it,  where  a  woman's  honor  rei((  red  the  sacrifice,  was 
virtue.     His  education  in  the  school  of  chivalry  hud  not  be  'i  loft  imperfect. 

Meanwhile,  the  Lady  Ernestina  tecaine  daily  more  fohd  of  Abdallah  ; 
while  his  tenderness  for  her  t'ound,  in  his  new  character  of  confessor,  a  thou- 
sand different  occasions  of  bein<^  inanifestetl.  The  madness  of  passion  had 
passed  away.  The  more  exquisite  calm  of  ripe  affection  remained,  and 
the  one  acquired  greater  force  from  the  absence  of  the  other.  Their  feel- 
ing had  a  pungency  known  only  to  the  refined  and  intellectual.  To  gaze 
into  each  other's  eyes,  and  read  there  all  that  was  being  enacted  by  the  ima- 
gination, had  a  thousand  times  more  of  blissful  enjoyment  in  it,  than  actual 
possession  could  yield  to  the  merely  sensual.  Kven  in  possession,  it  was  not 
80  much  the  gratification  of  desire  that  constituted  their  happiness — their 
most  exquiste  felicity — as  it  was  the  charm  of  voluptuous  thought,  arising 
from  that  possession.  The  mere  fact  was  nothing  in  the  scale  <»f  comparison 
— it  was  the  knowledge — the  reflection  of  the  soul's  confidence,  which  was 
mutually  reposed — the  utter  surrender,  as  it  were,  of  the  identity  of  each 
to  the  other — the  very  assurance  that  God  himself  inspired  them  with  the 
sublime  feelings  which  they  gloried  in  attributing  to  Him — these  were  the 
sentiments  that  most  impressed  them,  and  infused  such  voluptuousness  into 
their  veins,  that  even  thus,  they  could  have  calmly  exhaled  their  souls  in 
death.  Never  liad  Abdallah  and  his  friend  loved  each  other  more  than  at 
this  period — each  rejoicing  in  the  joy  of  the  other,  and  glorying  in  the 
greatness  of  mind  of  her  who  so  could  appreciate  and  impart  it. 

It  was  at  this  epoch,  that  the  Baron  de  Boiscourt  had  ordered  to  l<e  (larved 
in  ebony,  by  a  leading  artist  of  the  day,  the  group  of  three  figure."  whicji  has 
been  described  in  the  opening  chapter. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

Anotheh  month  passed  by.  Tlwre  was  but  one  in  tliat  little  re-union  of 
friends  who  foresaw,  m  the  future,  .hoithw  tis  1  rjp  ni»  the  joy  of  the  pres 
ont  was  striking.  This  was  Zuleima — the  tender,  iho  beautiful,  the  im- 
passioned, Zuleimn — who  liml  been  won  to  the  Ludy  Ernestina  m  n 
mnnnor  the  most  irresitttiblo.  Often  as  she  i;:izeil  iiiuiii  her  with  an  ex- 
pression of  the  most  touching  tenderness,  her  eyes,  while  throwing  her- 
self uiMin  the  boaom  of  lior  whom  she  had  leiinied  to  love  with  nil  tlio 
fervor  of  her  Euatorn  heart,  would  fill  with  tenrs,  until  the  BiironesH,  iilf.-ct- 
od  to  the  uttermost  by  the  ningulnr  sympnthy  she  niiiuil'osted,  would  el.iap 
her  in  her  arms,  and  eutreat  lier  to  expbiin  the  cauee  of  her  emotiou.  But 


< 


. 


M 


I   :. 


W       ' 


I  ) 


fl' 


164 


THK    MONK    KNIiiHT    OF    M.    JOHN 


Zuloimn,  always  Hnxiou.i  to  avoid  that  explnnntion,  only  the  inorfl  cloanly 
hug4,'ed  her  to  iinr  heiir^,  iind  tho  inoro  profoundly  wopt. 

'■Sweot  Zuleitna,  you  are  very  good  to  Idvo  mn  thus,"  siiiJ  the  Lady 
Ernnatina  one  pvtMiiiig,  after  the  fair  Suriicun  had  inanifested  more  than 
usual  foaling  ami  emotion  ;  "  nh .'  boiieve  tnu,  1  feel  it  deeply,  and  I  ton  love 
you  very  nmch" 

"  And  would  you  lovo  me  if  you  knew  I  had  loved  Abdallah,  even  as 
you  have  loved  him  .'"  ;Oie  askpd.  '•  Would  you  love  uie,  as  you  do  now, 
if  you  knew  lliat,  takin"  pity  on  the  inudnnHs  with  which  his  aoul  was 
filled  for  your  beauty,  I  received  hiui  to  my  heart — to  my  arms,  oven 
while  I  made  his  lips  pronuunco  your  name.  Ti^ll  mcs  Kriiestina,  my  owh 
beloved  sister — the  adored  one  of  my  noble  brother — would  you  love  mo 
Btill,  as  you  do  now,  were  all  this  the  case  ?" 

"Is  it  so,"  said  tho  Baroness,  eagerly.  "  Oh,  my  sweot  sister,  come  to 
my  arms  ;  ton  thousand  times  better  do  I  love  you  now  ;  for  you  know  my 
happiness;  the  secret  has  been  reveuleil  to  yourself ;  you  know  his  great 
love;  y<iu  can  enter  into  my  soul,  and  trace  u.  its  most  exquisite  feelings. 
Ah,  think  of  it!  think  of  it  I" 

She  drew  lier  passionately  to  her  heart.  She  covered  her  with  kisses, 
and  long  wore  they  locked  within  each  other's  arms. 

'■Do  you  know,  dear  Zuleima,"  said  the  Haroiiess,  when  the  first  pas- 
sionate interchange  of  their  feelings  hud  been  somewhat  cuhned,  "  I  have 
a  strong  presentiment  that  1  shall  not  live  long.  It  seems  to  me  aa  though 
tliis  ha|)i)ine89  woie  too  exquisite  to  last." 

The  tears  of  Zuleima  poured  like  a  torrent  down  upon  the  heaving 
bosom  of  her  sister  ;  her  heart  was  too  full  for  utterance. 

"  Why  do  you  weep,  my  beloved  ;  why  weep  thus,  my  Zuleima  ?" 

"  I  weep  to  hear  you  so  calmly  speak  of  death.  Oh  God,  forbid  I — and 
yet — and  yet^ih,  it  must  be  so.     I  fear  it  I" 

'' God  forbid  I  and  you  fear  it  I  Dear  Zuleima,  by  the  love  you  bear 
me.  explain  all  this.  Vour  weeping — your  prophetic  thoughts — my  own 
belief; — surely  there  must  be  something  in  all  this.  Come,  tell  me.  I 
have  tasted  of  such  hap|)ine88  as  never  y^t  fell  to  the  lot  of  created  woman, 
and  although  I  am  not  anxious  to  ila.sh  the  sweet  cup  from  my  lips,  still  I 
shall  always  be  prepared  to  die,  if  such  be  r  y  destiny,  with  the  conscioiM 
ness  thiit  I  have  qua/led  of  it  as  never  yet  woman  quaflTed.  Vet  where- 
fore die — and  why  apprehend  it  ?" 

•'  Ah,  dear,  dear  sister  !''  said  Zuleima  ;  "  do  you  recollect  what  occur- 
red on  the  day  of  my  arrival  ?  Alas,  I  have  not  forgotten  it.  It  has  been 
a  fearful  source  of  disquiet  to  me  since,  for  most  surely  I  saw  something 
poured  into  your  ear  by  tha^  bad  woman." 

"  Vou  do  not  utter  but  you  look  your  meaning,  dear  Zuleima.  Vou 
think  still  that  it  was  done,  and  that  the  drops  were  poisofi.  If  so,  '  she 
said,  taking  her  hand,  and  pressing  it  atTectionatoly,  "  why  has  it  not 
shown  itself  before.  Trn^  1  am  vary  languid  ;  but  that  may  be  owing  to 
another  cause  ;"  and  she  glanced  at  the  marked  alteration  in  her  shape- 

"  I  have  always  avoided  asking  you  ono  question,"  remarked  Zuleima, 
as  she  imprinted  a  kiss  of  love  ujion  her  lips,  "  for  I  did  not  wish  to  alarm; 


:  i 


'  "k 


w 


-^    "*.V. 


TliK    MONK    KNKiHT    (-K    ^  r.    JOHN. 


165 


witli  kissed, 


but  now  thn  nifniieiit  ina  iirrived  wlion  dis^iiiHe  iind  Corbenrance  would  be 
erunl.  Di)  yon  ever  ffcl  u  soothing  HoiiHation  in  the  right  ear  .' — yes,  it 
WHS  the  liglit — and  lemhing  from  th»'nc(^  to  the  brnin  ?" 

"  Yes,  flveii  at  thin  inomont,  I  feel  it.  It  Ih  delicious.  It  seems  tosten. 
one's  very  soul  away  in  languor." 

'•  Oh,  my  sistor,  suuinioik  all  your  courage,"  returned  the  sobbing  Zh- 
jeimu,  as  she  sank  on  lii'r  knees,  and  throwing  her  arms  around  her, 
pressed  her  convulsively  to  her  heart,  "  ert'  lonsi  you  must  die  I" 

"What,  and  leave  Abdallnh  !"  remarked  the  Baroness,  mournfully. 
'•Death  is  nothini;  in  itself;  but  I  cannot  part  with  him.  Where  ia 
he  .'  Bring  liim  to  nip,  love,  that  1  may  entwine  myself  around  him, 
even  as  the  drooping  vine  ombiacos  the  majestic  oak.  Let  me  breathe  out 
my  last  breath  upon  his  bosom,  dying  oven  as  we  have  so  long  lived,  in  the 
embrace  that  maddens.  Oh,  bring  him,  bring  him  quickly  !  Life  is  too 
short  to  be  one  moment  from  him. 

Zuleimn  iiad  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  Her  weeping  was  codvuI- 
eive — her  sobs  were  painful  to  liear. 

"  How  long  hnve  I  to  live  .'"  suddenly  but  calmly  inquired  the  Baroness. 
■  Perhaps  another  month.  If  it  be  the  ])oi8on  I  suppose,  it  is  so  gentle 
in  its  elVect  that  it  will  not  cause  death  in  less  th;in  two  months  from  the 
time  when  it  is  taken  into  the  system.  It  is  well  known  in  the  Kast,  and 
chieHy  used  hi  the  harem,  by  women  jealous  of  each  other.  It  causes  do 
change  in  the  person,  and  the  death,  which  sure  as  fate  ensues,  is  so  gen- 
tle in  its  approach,  that  no  one  would  ever  suspect  poison  to  have  been 
taken.  Beauty  and  liealth,  and  strength,  and  the  power  of  enjoyment  re- 
main even  until  the  last  breath  has  passed  away." 

''  This  at  least  is  con8')iing,"  said  the  lovely  woman,  rallying;  "I  would 
be  beautiful  in  Abdallah's  eyes  to  the  last.  Death  is  only  to  be  feared  in 
its  loathsomeness.  At\d  yet  I  could  live  an  age  of  love  for  him.  But  it 
shull  be  so.  Zuleima,"  she  said,  pressing  her  fondly  to  her  heart, ''pro- 
mise me  one  thing — that,  until  I  am  dead,  you  will  not  reveal  this  subject 
to  any  one.     Pledge  mo,  sweet  sister." 

"  On  my  soul  I  will  not !"  answered  the  sobbing  Zuleima.  "  Ah,  that  I 
had  the  power  to  avert  your  destiny.  Would,  indeed,  I  had  never  seen 
you,  if  oidy  thus  to  know  you  and  deplore  your  loss." 

'•  .My  beloved  sister,  be  calm.  'Tis  well  you  came  ;  let  that  console  you. 
Hud  I  not  been  warned,  as  now,  deitth,  sudden  and  unexpected,  would 
have  come  to  cheat  me  of  the  bliss  I  yet  shall  taste.  Another  month  is 
l^ft  mo ;  and  in  that  month  warm  souls  like  ours  can  live  another  life  of 
jiiy.  Throe  days  before  my  death  the  secret  may  be  revealed.  The 
loved  ones  besides  Abdallah  must  be  in  some  measure  prepared.  Is  it  not 
strange  I  feel  so  calm — so  inditferent  to  my  death  1" 

"  Ah  !"  remarked  the  sobbing  Zuleima,  "  it  is  the  very  nature  of  the 
poison  to  lull  the  senses,  and  induce  this  apathy." 

■Then  was  the  Countess  charitable,  else  had  she  chosen  a  more  tor- 
turing death." 

"All'  not  charity,   but  policy,  dictated  her  conduct ;"  was  the  sad  le- 


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166 


THK    MONK    liNli.nr    Oi-    sT.    JDHN 


'  Tliiit   liai;oriiig.  Hootliiti);,  iiIiddbI    volii|)tuii'ari    poiron 


ply   of  Zuloiiua. 
lonvHS  no  trace." 

"  But  wlioiefore  bruugbt  ahv  wiitor  to  relievo  me  when  1  fninted  .'  Had 
ahe  dpsigncd  to  poison,  metliinkfi  'twere  atrangn  to  give  what  iniglit  have 
proved  an  antidote !" 

"  It  was  cunningly  devised,"  returned  Zuluima.  "  She  knew  that  she 
bad  been  near  you,  and  might  be  suspected.  By  tendering  water  it  might 
teem  a  tiiodoess.  In  9very  way  this  served  her  purpose.  It  not  suspect- 
0d  of  foul  treacbuiy,  she  gained  the  merit  of  a  desire  of  service  to  her 
whose  death  she  sought ;  and,  if  suspected,  her  own  draining  of  the  cup 
disarmed  suspicion." 

"  Moat  cunning  woman,  truly  ;  and  yet,  Zuleima.  do  you  know  I  do  not 
hate  her  for  the  act?" 

Zuleima  made  do  answer,  but  looked  at  her  with  an  expression  of  deep 
surprise. 

"  I  cannot  hate  the  woman  whom  deep  passion  for  Abdallah  alone  moves 
to  crime  against  her  rival.  And  yet  I  would  not,  even  to  preserve  the  life 
I  am  about  to  lose,  that  her  art  had  triumphed." 

"  Her  art?" 

"  Yea :  that  night  Abdallah  told  me  all.  To  the  aummer-houae  she  led 
him,  under  pretence  of  confession.  Once  there,  her  true  design  was  soon 
unfolded.  She  supplicated  him  to  her  joy.  At  this  his  soul,  wedded  to 
my  own  and  constancy,  revolted.  Irritated  at  his  refusal,  she  spoke  of  me 
and  vowed  that  I  absorbed  exclusively  his  love.  Disgusted  with  her  wan- 
tonness he  left  her  with  contempt.  You  know  what  followed.  She  has 
revenged  her  vrrong." 

"  Ah,  what  misery  has  resulted  I  Would  to  Allah  that  Abdallah  bad 
promised  what  she  asked  !" 

"No,  Zuleima,  no !  I  can  die,  but  I  cannot  share  his  love — least  with 
the  CountesB  of  Clermont  than  all  other  women.  Her  beauty  is  ttw 
haughty — too  insolent — too  overbearing — moreover,  in  her  amours  she  is 
known  to  have  no  delicacy.  It  is  well  us  it  is.  Lot  no  one  know  that  she 
was  my  poisoner.  Will  you  promise  mo  that  ?  IVIy  death  must  be  attri- 
buted to  never-ending  love  for  Abdullah." 

"  Since  you  ask  it,  I  promise,"  replied  tho  alfectionate  Zuleima,  in  a  tone 
of  oxpostulatioD  ;  "  but  indeed  it  is  very  wrong  to  let  her  eacape  the  pun- 
ishment of  her  crime." 

"Zuleima,  sweetest!"  and  she  tenderly  kissed  her,  ■■  in  this  I  must  be 
obeyed;  and  now  send  Abdallah  to  me.  You  know  the  power  of  his  love, 
and  I  rejoice  that  you,  and  you  alone,  do  know  it.  I  rejoice  thnt  ynu  should 
know  it,  because  you  are  a  part  of  himself:  and  becausn,  having  known  it, 
you  will  comprehend  that  which  no  one  else  can — the  redeeming  liappi- 
noss  of  the  month  of  life  yet  left  to  your  dear  sister.  Forth  from  this  room 
again  I  stir  nut.  In  his  arms  I  would  breathe  out  my  last  breath.  Strange 
enough,  but  I  have  often  wished  that  it  could  be  so.  And  now,  what  was 
then  my  fondest  wish  ia  about  to  be  realized." 


•^ 


THE    MONK    KNIOHT    OK    ST.    JOHN. 


167 


One  long  embrace,  and  Zuleinia  departed  (o  deliver  her  mesange,  and 
Boon  the  CoufesBor  and  his  beloved  were  again  alone. 

Shall  we  dwell  on  the  month  that  atill  remained  to  the  Lady  Erneatina. 
Prepared  to  die  at  the  expiration  of  that  time,  her  only  anxiety  was  for  the 
grief  of  those  who,  she  well  knew,  would  ho  struck  down  as  by  a  tempest 
of  desolation  to  the  earth.  A  month  is  but  a  second  in  the  calender  of  such 
love  as  consumed  both  her  Confessor  and  herself.  The  days  passed  rap- 
idly by.  Abdallah  was  never  five  minutes  absent  from  her  couch  at  a 
time — never  more  than  an  hour  of  the  entire  day  and  night.  Their  pat- 
sion  grew  at  every  moment  stronger  from  fruition,  until  finally  it  became  a 
perfect  delirium  of  the  senses.  It  seemed  to  them  that  they  had  never 
sufficiently  loved  before  ;  and  even  now  the  intense  devotion  of  their  souls 
seemed  only  half  to  meet  the  intensity  of  their  desire.  The  raptures 
they  tasted  were  not  of  earth — they  were  of  heaven.  Their  depth  and 
fulness  had  nothing  human  in  them.  They  would  have  grown  into  each 
other  if  they  could. 

At  length,  and  yet  too  speedily,  came  that  fatal  morning  so  full  of  woe 
and  bitterness  to  all  but  herself.  She  reclined,  negligently,  almost  voluptu- 
ously clad,  upon  a  rich  crimson  ottoman.  She  was  somewhat  pale,  and 
slightly,  very  slightly  emaciated.  Her  eyes  were  full  of  a  soft  fire  that  fas- 
cinated the  beholder,  and  the  extreme  clearness  of  her  complexion,  gave 
her  almost  supernatural  beauty.  Her  friends  were  grouped  around  her, 
and  these  consisted  of  her  husband,  her  lover,  Zuleima,  Henriette  and 
Rudolph,  who  were  greatly  affected.  Intentionally,  and  with  a  view  in 
some  degree  to  prepare  them,  she  had  announced  that  she  felt  alarmingly 
ill,  and  wished  the  presence  of  all  at  the  side  of  her  couch.  This  evident- 
ly induced  apprehension,  and  all  hastened  to  obey  her  summons. 

"  Nay,  look  not  thus  gloomily,"  she  enjoined,  "  else  you  will  unfit  me  for 
the  duty  I  have  assigned  myself,  ff  you  but  knew  the  luxury  of  feeling 
I  now  enjoy,  you  would  not  pity  but  envy  me.  My  dear,  dear  friends," 
she  continued,  "  I  have  long  since  been  aware  of  my  approaching  end,  but 
why  afflict  you  sooner  than  was  needful  ?  Better  far  to  die  amid  smiling 
and  well-remembered  faces,  than  have  one's  Inst  few  days  of  life  embitter- 
ed by  the  sight  of  grief  in  those  a  (Mwerful  and  divine  impulse  tells  me  I 
shall  yet  behold  again,  where  all  the  future  is  love  and  love  alone.  Nay, 
Henriette,  my  child — my  pet;  do  not  weep.  You  shall  be  de  Boiscourr'a 
wife  ;  you  long  have  loved  him — and  he " 

"  Oil.  my  (Jod  !"  exclaimed  the  agonized  girl,  "  talk  not  of  love  to  me, 
who.  in  you,  love  nil  that  is  dearest  to  me.  Not  Gonzales  himself  glories  in 
you  more  than  I  have  {jloried — loves  you  moro  tenderly  than  I  have  loved." 

Abdallah  spoke  not.  He  stood  rigid  as  a  stotue.  The  pores  of  his  fore- 
head distilled  drops  of  agony.  He  was  almost  suffocated  with  his  emotion. 
The  Lady  Ernestina  dead,  or '  rn  from  him  forever,  filled  his  mind  with 
horror.     He  could  not  even  imagine  so  astounding  an  evil. 

"  I  then,"  he  exclaimed,  fiercely,  "  have,  in  the  fulness  of  my  own 
might,  destroyed  you.  But  ha!  the  work  is  but  begun— it  shall  be  finish- 
ed." 


\ 

I 


i 


108 


THK    MUNK    KNIUHT    OK    M.    JOHN. 


11 


No  one  rc4fili«(l.  The  im|M)rt  of  lilu  Wdril;*  whl<  ovidHnt.  All  knew  the 
fact  of  tliat  tu  whicli  Iih  iiiluded,  but  mine  liiul  over  thought  of  giving  ex- 
pr«>8ioii  to  the  observation. 

A  HuddtMi  idea  occiirrod  to  the  niiroiipsri.  ■'  Alidiilliili,"  nhn  said,  "  all 
this  IB  for  the  best.  None  there  ore  here  who  do  not  know  or  Huroiise  the 
relntions  tfaut  exist  between  us  ;  for,  although  not  bold  or  rogardless  of 
uppearances,  I  htivo  not  had  art  enough  to  dii<^uiH«>  my  fuelinriH.  Come 
nearer,  Abdalluh,  my  husband  that  wao,  and  now  my  lovor.  This  is  your 
child  :  never  could  it  have  succeodi'ii  to  thi^  nnmo  mid  title  of  de  Hoiscourt. 
It  was  the  growth  of  the  sweet  lovo  tliiit  for  montliH  has  consumed  ua. 
Had  I  given  birth  to  it,  its  position  would,  in  tlio  <«yi'S  "f  the  cold  world, 
been  one  of  disgrace.  Better  that  it  should  dlf>  with  mt>  than  Hurvive  to 
embarrass  the  generous,  the  noble  de  Boiscourt.  wh»m  once,  made  mad  by 
you  with  overwhelming  love,  I  so  greatly  wronged." 

As  she  uttered  these  last  words  she  held  out  her  arms  to  the  sorrowing 
Baron,  who  knelt  at  her  side,  and,  passionately  einbriicing  her,  shed  many 
and  bitter  tears  upon  her  bosom. 

Unable  to  command  his  grief,  or  to  hide  the  desire  that  even  at  that  mo- 
ment came  over  his  soul,  the  Confessor  had  ru^ilied  from  the  room. 

"  Follow  him,  de  Boiscourt ;  follow  and  comfort  him.  Say  that  the 
three  days  I  have  to  live  I  devote  solely  to  him.  But  one  thing  before  you 
go,  you  must  promise  me.  Henriette  loves  you-  She  is  a  dear  and  charm- 
ing girl.  1  know  your  taste,  and  you  may  rely  upon  it,  she  is  in  person, 
oy,  and  in  heart  too,  all  you  can  desire.  You  must  marry  her  within  a 
month  after  I  am  in  my  grave." 

"But,  dearest  Lady  Ernestina !"  exclaimed  the  sobbing  Honriette, 
throwing  herself  at  her  feet. 

"  Not  another  word,  sweet  child,  if  you  wish  me  to  die  happily.  1  de- 
sire that  it  shall  be  so.     What  says  dear  de  Boiscourt  ?" 

The  Baron  was  too  much  absorbed  in  his  grief  to  reply  by  words.  He 
took  both  Henriette's  hand  and  his  wife's  tenderly  in  his  own,  and  pressed 
them  silently  but  fervently  to  his  lips. 

"Where  is  Abdallah  gone?"  she  inquired,  after  a  pause  of  some  min- 
ntes.  Dear  de  Boiscourt  find  him.  Hf  may  do  himself  injury.  His 
emotion  was  very  great.  Besides,"  she  said,  significantly  taking  his  hand, 
"  you  know  1  have  three  days  of  perfect  health  left  to  me  yet." 

"Ah,  would  they  were  yeors,"  said  the  Biiron,  vehemently,  "  and  de- 
voted to  the  same  purpose.  God  bless  you,  my  love,  forever  and  for  ever. 
Certainly,  as  you  say,  we  shall  meet  in  Heaven.  Who  so  weak  as  to 
doubt  it?" 

He  enfolded  her  to  his  beating  heart.  He  imprinted  a  last  and  chasten- 
ed kiss  of  love  upon  her  lips,  and  then  hurried  forth  in  pursuit  of  Abdallah. 

It  was  not  until  a  late  hour  that  the  luttcr  returned.  He  was  wild — 
liaggard — looked  much  older — as  though  he  had  gone  through  years  of  suf- 
fering. The  benevolence  of  his  brow  had  fled — its  expression  was  en- 
th-ely  changed.  On  the  contrary,  a  halo  of  calm  spread  itself  over  the 
countenance  of  the  Lady  Krnestinn — a  voluptuous  languor  crept  through 


THE   MONK    KNIOHT    OK    sT.    JOHN. 


itiy 


h«r  Teini.  She  was  alone  when  he  entered,  One  glance  at  the  perfect 
abandonment  of  her  whole  being  whb  sufficient. 

"  Three  days  of  bliss,  and  wo  ui«  toj^other,"  Rronned  Abdallah.  He 
rang  the  bell  furiously,  and  Henrietto  ii|)pi<ur<*d. 

"  Child,"  he  said,  "  let  refreshments  bu  taken  into  the  ante-room. 
Wine,  plenty  of  Cyprus  wine — whatiiver  nmy  stir  the  blood  to  inadiiess — 
all  manner  of  succulents.  Wo  have  a  fenst  of  love  to  keep.  Here  is 
Semel^  and  I  am  Jove.  Sweet  Heb^,  bring  wine — bring  nectur  ;  bring 
anything— bring  everything  that  will  administer  to  our  burning  luve. — 
Quick,  quick  ;  there  is  no  time  to  Ioho.  Cuinu  not  in  yourself,  but  place  it 
in  that  anto-room.    Krnostina  !  oh,  my  Krnestinn  !" 

And  before  the  gentle  llenriette,  so  rocently  bntrothed  to  de  Boiscourt, 
had  time  to  leave  the  room,  in  execution  of  his  will,  her  cheeks  wure 
crimson  with  blushes  as  she  saw  him  wildly  rush  into  the  willing  arms  of 
her  he  loved,  heedless  that  another  than  themselves  was  there. 

"  There's  blood  upon  your  brow,  dear  Abdallah  ;  how  camo  this  ?"  re- 
marked the  Lady  Krnestina,  after  a  long  lapse  of  time  devoted  only  to  the 
stormy  passions  which  rent  their  souls. 

"  It  means,"  said  Abdallah,  hoarsely,  "  that  you  are  revenged.  But, 
come,  dearest,  talk  not  of  the  hateful  past ;  let  us  live  while  we  may  in 
the  present.  There  is  no  time  to  devote  to  others.  Ernestina,  my  child, 
my  love,  my  wife,  my  iidored  one — our  days  are  numbered,  and  they  two 
brief.     Oh,  pitying  sainta,  but  one  week  longer  !" 


CHAPTER    XXXll, 


When,  at  the  expiration  of  the  last  three  Hays,  which  the  Lady  Ernestina 
and  her  Confessor  had  devoted  so  unceasin^rly  to  their  love,  the  sorrowing  party 
at  the  chateau  had  entered  the  nuptial  chamber  which  has  already  more  than 
once  been  described,  and  to  which  they  went  unsummoned,  they  found  the 
former  almost  in  the  languor  of  duath  ;  and  the  latter,  so  far  exhausted  from 
the  (tflects  of  a  poison  he  too  had  swallowed,  that  he  had  only  strength  to 
watch  over  the  last  moments  of  his  adored.  The  liquid  he  had  taken  was 
somewhat  the  same  in  effect  with  that  administered  to  the  Baroness,  by  the 
revengeful  Countess  of  Clermont.  Like  that,  it  was  eastern,  and  had  pro- 
duced the  .soothingnesB  which  had  been  so  remarkable  in  the  Lady  Ernestina. 
The  calm  and  benevolent  expression  of  his  features  had  returned,  and  there 
was  a  holy  resignation — a  repose  of  countenance,  as  he  gazed  intently  on  the 
beautiful  form  of  her  who  would  be  soon  hidden  from  his  sight,  that  seemed 
utterly  at  variance  with  the  intensity  of  the  love  he  bore  her.  His  hand  was 
tightly  clasped  in  hers,  whose  breathing  was  now  low  and  faint,  but  whose 
eyes  occasionally  opened  upon  him  with  such  an  expression  of  resignation 
and  gratified  love,  that  all,  aware  of  the  manner  in  which  the  last  momeuts 


^ 


170 


TIIK    MDNK    KNli.HI'    O.     ST.    JOHN. 


of  her  liftt  Usui  been   piisMMJ,  Iclt  st'trrt  joy  and  I'xiiltntiiin  that  mieinii  ,;!* 
nothing  now  roniaiiied  tu  her  to  iIohih'  on  rsirlh. 

"  What  oan  tliiit  mean  '  '  a«kc<l  df  Uoiwoiirt,  aiixiouHly  "  .Snroly  tlioi' • 
art;  not  tlit<  \iHual  iniheutiona  ot'diM'aito      What  has  caiiMeil  thi.s  '" 

*'  Poi.Hoii '"  answered  the  Munk-KniKht,  Holeninly.  "  Who  tuM<m  of  iht- 
Hweet  narcotic  that  courscit  voluptuounly  through  each  vuin,  wonhl  kis-t  the 
hand  of  the  inurdnrcM  who  gave  it,  not  in  I'rD'ndHliip  hut  in  hate." 

*'  Hut,  drar  Abdallah,  what  mean  you,  in  there  ruusoii  to  twiievu  that  Kr- 
nestina  is  a  victim  of  poison,  and  [w>t  of  coiisuroptiun,  ati  she  announced  '" 

"  l)e  Boiscourt,"  replied  the  Confessor,  "  you  recollect  the  Hcene  that  oc- 
curred in  your  festive  hall,  and  in  memory  of  your  proclaimed  return  from 
Palestine'" 

"I  do  :  what  of  that'" 
'    ''  Then,  do  you  not  recollect  the  charge  I  made  against  the  Countesrt  of 
Clermont — that  she  had  administered  the  slow  but  deadly  drug'" 

"  Good  God  !  what  mean  you,  Abdallah  '"  returned  the  Baron,  with  a  pale 
cheiek,  and  faltering  voice,  as  he  advanced,  and  knelt  at  the  side  of  his  wife ; 
"  I  do  recollect  the  charge  too  well,  but  then  ahe  gave  denial— proof  of 
innocence." 

"  And  yet  she  did  it — even  then  iiad  she  done  it." 

"  Ah !"  groaned  the  Haron  in  deep  agony  ;  "  had  1  been  warned  by  you, 
dear  Zuleima,  then  had  this  terrible  evil  htieu  avoided." 

"  Reproach  not  yourself,"  answered  the  tender  wilo  of  Kudolph.  "  It 
could  not  be  avoided.  It  wa»  already  ilone  when  I  ijavc  you  notice  I  knew 
It  w;i8  in  vain  to  seek  a  remedy  Only  to  the  Lady  KrntMtiiia  did  I  tli.silose 
my  fears.  Ah  !  with  what  sublime  courage  mIip  bore  the  tiding.s  of  tin.'  death 
that  was  so  near.  Nay,  even  slu-  forfjavc  the  (JountesH,  and  won  my  pledge 
that  I  would  not  betray  her  ^'uilt." 

"  .\n(l  did  she  pray  forgiveness  of  tliu  Countess  '"  said  Abdallah,  wildly  ; 
and  yet  with  his  gaze  .still  bciit  upon  the  beloved  and  dying  one. 

"  She  did.  She  said  she  could  not  hate  the  woman,  whose  strong  dosire 
alone  for  him  she  loved,  had  made  her  seek  her  life." 

•'  Said  she  so'"  fiercely  excliiimed  Abdallah.  "  Oh  '  what  an  angel,  and 
what  a  fiend  who  tore  her  from  my  too  insatiate  love  '  You  see  blood  upon 
tht'w  hands,"  lie  continiird  liiriously,  as  he  iicid  tliem  forth.  "  Well  have  I 
avenged  her  fall.  Not  hell  it.-^elf  could  devise  a  fate  more  horrible  than  that 
which  now  is  hers." 

"  Alidallah,  my  dear  friend,  you  rave,"  said  the  Baron,  endeavoring  to 
.soothe  him.  You  have  not  left  the  chateau  once  these  three  weeks  ;  nay, 
except  to  take  a  portion  nl  the  I'oml  whidi  was  piaccij  m  the  ante-room  at 
your  desire  ;  not  once  have  you  been  absent  froin  the  confessional." 

"Ha!"  returned  the  Monk-Kiiijflit.  fiercely;  "you  are  right — 1  rave. 
L«'t  ine  then,  for  tlie  few  hours  I  have  y<'l  to  live,  tell  you  how  I  rave. 
Sfc — see.  she  turns  her  lyes  in  supplication  on  me — her  glances  tell  of  the 
opening  beatitude  of  her  spirit.  Oh  !  Ernestina,  go  not  yet.  Without  you 
the  world  is  hell.  I  must  die  in  your  embrace,  straining  you  to  my  iron- 
breast  until  the  very  heart-strings  snap  asunder,  and  bear  us  away  in  the 
very  tumult  of  our  love  to  life  eternal,  where  enjoyment  is  for  evermore  wi«li 


niK    MONK    KNIiillT    OK    ^T.    JOHN. 


171 


thoM!  who  love  likrt  us.  Dear,  twMt  Eriiuitina!"  and  he  devoutlykneh 
and  UiHm'd  her  utill  wann  Ii|>h  ;  "  nnver  iiiitii  loved  aa  I  liav«  loved — never 
woman  drank  into  h«T  luvinK  !t»d  tund  noiil  tli)!  inUixii'ntiii^;  nwnnta  of  paitaion 
»H  you  iiav«  done.  Oh  '  uicrry,  ran  it  be'  Ih  it,  indeed — ih  it  hut  a  dream' 
MuMt  it  end'  nainned— liainned  C'ountcMl  Ha*  she  livea — she  hroathei 
— the  yanprene  thou^^ht  is  at  her  heart  '  She  liven  to  know  each  moment  of 
my  life  in  ('onneerate  to  hate  of  her  aceiirHed  self.  S|)eak,  dear  Krnoetina, 
apeak  :  one  laHt  emhrane  of  h)ve,  and  then,  let  all  thiiiK"  perinh." 

The  HaroncMii  rould  not  answer,  hot  nhe  CHHt  a  dying  look  o(  such  deep 
love  upon  him,  while  xhe  gently  prtHaedhitt  hand,  that  the  strong  man  wept 
like  a  ehild. 

"  Oh  '  damned,  damned  woman  !"  he  purmied.  again  relapsing  into  fury, 
"  rould  nothing  Htay  your  cruel  purpits«> '  Would  that  I  had  yielded  to 
your  lewdness — ay,  even  though  my  soul  had  been  covered  with  the  hilter- 
ne«  of  dentil  in  the  art,  before  the  fiend  of  hatred  dire  had  entered  into  your 
heart  to  crush  so  sweet  a  flower.  But  I  have  revenged  V"".  Listen,  dc 
Boiwourt,"  he  said  sternly,  "  it  was  fate,  it  was  providenee  interfered  to 
punish  her  infamy  and  avenge  the  lost  one." 

"  When  1  went  forth  from  this,''  he  continued,  "  on  the  announcement  of 
her  danger  being  made,  it  was  with  madness  and  det'perat ion  of  purpose  at 
my  licart.  A  wild  desire  to  taste  the  breeze  of  heaven,  and  wring  sad  (•f>ni- 
fort  from  the  stings  of  fallen  hope  oppreswid  my  soul.  1  knew  what  I  w,is 
about  to  lose,  and  horror  was  in  the  thought.  My  feet  wandered  most  un- 
consciously to  the  summer-house.  As  1  was  about  to  pass  it,  the  sound  of 
voices  from  within  arrested  me.  1  felt  that  one  at  least  was  not  unknown,  and 
I  stopped,  mechanically,  to  listen.  A  vsgiio  presentiment  that  1  was  in  some 
degree  interested  in  tl»e  conversation,  compelled  me,  as  it  were,  to  an  act 
which  otherwise  I  should  have  considered  discreditable. 

"  If  you  recollect,  there  is  a  slight  rise  just  behind  the  summer-house,  where 
it  borders  on  the  thick  skirt  of  the  forest.  I  placed  my  toot  on  this,  and  thus 
elevated,  e.isily  looked  in  at  the  window.  I  sicken  at  the  recollo<'tion  of 
what  I  saw  ;  it  was  the  brutal  (.'oeur-de-Fer  in  the  arms  of  the  (Countess  of 
Clermont.  There  was  no  doubt  of  the  nature  of  their  intimacy.  Nothing 
was  lel\  to  the  imagination.  Oh  I  I  cannot  find  language  to  express  the 
loathing  which  I  felt  at  the  sight.  In  my  view  she  was  perfectly  unwoman- 
i/.ed.  1  could  iis  soon  have  mated  with  a  she-bear,  as  with  that  sliamul(«Bs 
fiend. 

"  As  I  was  about  to  descend,  and  plunge  still  deeper  into  the  forest,  al- 
most humiliate<l  at  the  thought  that  such  love  as  I  had  witiicsMCil  was  even 
the  .•iaiiie  in  reality  with  that  wiiic^h  bound  me  lo  the  dying  beloved  of  tny 
soul.  I  telt  humbled,  annoyed,  disgusted,  and  1  hated  the  (^uintess  with 
a  hate  no  language  can  convey.  While  about  to  disceiid,  I  rtpetit,  I  In  ard 
her  dislinelly  say,  although  in  a  voice  broken  by  her  recent  detested  iiiuUion  : 

"  '  And  is  tilt  poison  sure  f  it  seems  to  me  to  work  but  slowly.'   ' 

"  A  thousand  thoughts  crowded  in  one  upon  my  brain,  but  uppermost  rose 
apprehension  connected  with  the  idol  of  my  .soul — I  lingered — listened.  " 

"  *  Its  efTecl  is  certain — slow,  hut  sure.     I  pundiased  it  in    Palestine  to 


< 


!l 


I 


172 


THK    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


I 


administer  to  the  accursed  Monk-Knight,  but  never  found  oceasion.     I  have 
prescrvrd  itcantfuliy  since.     Two  drops  in  the  ear  uroduco  certain  death.'  " 

"  Oh,  Cod  !  who  can  understand  what  1  felt.  To  lose  thus  the  woman 
that  I  loved  with  a  love  indescribable,  who  was  more  myself  than  myself; 
for  whom  I  would  liave  shed  my  blood,  drop  by  drop — to  poesesu  whose  su- 
p«'rliuman  beauty,  I  alone  lived  and  breathed  and  found  pleasure  m  life,  nnd 
for  whose  posses.sjon  I  nursed  tiie  most  inordinate  and  unsatisfied 'longinjg; 
v<\vi\  most  possessed.  'I'o  lose  her,  to  be  certain  as  the  sun  of  heaven  that 
rolled  over  my  distracted  head,  that  she  must  die,  and  rot,  and  liecome  a 
thiiin'  (It  i(i:iiiif  )inencss  for  worms  to  revel  in,  all  this  was  more  than  madness 
— a  world  i;f  time  passed  before  me.  The  summer-house  turned  around.  The 
trees  of  the  forest  seemed  to  stand  with  their  roots  in  air.  A  flood  of  crim- 
son sparhhvs  shot  forth  from  my  staring;  eyes — my  heart  fainted  with  fear 
— I  scarcely  breathed.  Again  I  made  an  effort  to  remove  or  confirm  my 
strong;  suspicion,  and  again  the  damned  and  harshly  grating  voice  of  tiie 
Countess  of  ("lermont  arrested  my  ear." 

"  '  And  yet  nearly  two  months  have  passed  since  1  poured  it  into  her  ear. 
Still  she  seems  not  even  to  suffer  frora  the  effect.  You  have  mocked  me, 
Cceur-de-Fer,  to  gain  your  end.  1  pino  for  this  Abdallah,  and  fain  would 
have  her  dit>.  that  lu;r  image  being  absent,  nothing  may  interpose  between 
me  and  the  ai  jmplishment  of  my  desires.'  '' 

"  '  But  even  were  she  (had,  how  wi!l  that  advance  you '  The  Monk  has 
no  eye.s — no  soul,  but  for  her.  The  Baroness  in  her  grave  will  be  dearer  vo 
him  far  than  j'll  of  womankind  beside  her.' 

"  '  I  know  him  hotter,'  was  the  rejoinder.  '  Take  from  him  that  lap  of 
love,  on  which  iiis  madness  riots — destroy  the  creeping  flesh,  to  which  he, 
like  the  vani|iire  clings,  and  soon  his  passion  must  find  the  fellow  of  the  joy  ol 
which  he  hiu<  been  robbed.  Mark  me  well.  I  shall  take  the  occasion  when 
his  moixl  is  strongest  to  win  him  to  my  will.  My  charms,  at  'east,  are 
etpial  to  those  of  her  whose  death  I  seek.  If  he  but  beholds  them  as  even 
now  you  do,  iny  eonqiiesl  is  complete.  The  man  is  all-powerful  within  him. 
Despite  even  of  himself  he  must  yield.  Once  mine,  I  doubt  not  my  power 
to  transfer  the  boiling  love  he  now  lavishes  on  my  rival  to  myself 

"  '  Then  dei^pair  not,'  answered  the  brute.  '  She  may  live  another  week, 
not  more.  Hecollect,  my  (,'ounte.se,  it  is  not  this  alone  contents  ine.  Your 
love,  pardieu,  i.*>  swe(?t  enough,  but  the  thousand  crowns  are  sweeter.  Kx- 
cus».'  my  frankness,  but  we  soldiers  are  generally  straight-spoken  fellows.' 

"  '  The  day  aftjir  her  death  is  made  known  to  me,  the  thousand  crowns  are 
yours,'  resumed  the  harlot ;  '  b\it  you  have  said  you  have  another  powerful 
poison,  which  causes  death  within  a  shorter  |)eri(Kl,  and  is  more  potent  if 
tak^n  inwardly." 

"  '  I  have  brought  it  with  me,''  said  (Jour-de-Fer.  'The  price  is  fifty 
cro.^'ns.' 

"  '  Then,  ere  you  leave  give  it  to  me.  Ju.st  fifty  crowns  are  in  my  purse. 
You  say  that  its  soothing  influence  is  oqual  to  the  first,  but  that  it  sooner 
kills.' 

"  It  doee.  A  iiow  drops  of  any  acid  taken  while  it  lingers  in  the  system, 
produces  death  within  the  hour.' 


tit 


I  ( 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


173 


"  '  (luod  ,  there  is  my  purae.  If  that  you  doubt  the  sum  contained  in  it, 
pray  (Miuiit  the  crowns.  For  me,  my  longer  alwence  may  create  suspicion, 
and  I  must  licncc  at  once.     Farewell.' 

"  '  Presently,  fair  ('ountess.  I'll  count  the  crowns  before  you  go,  and  if, 
perciianr*',  the  sum  is  short,  wiiy  I  know  where  to  call  upon  you  for  the  re- 
maiufler.  We,  c!'l  I'alestine  warriors,'  he  continued,  grinning  hideously, 
'  are  fellows  at  n  bargain,  whether  in  love  or  in  gold.  You'll  find  the  Monk 
a  lover  cheaply  purchaeed  at  a  thousand  crowns  though.  1  wish  you  joy  of 
him.  He  would  surely  have  killed  the  Ijarouess  if  you  had  not.  Living  in 
the  chateau  as  I  do,  1  know  all  that  passes  within  it.  (ionzales,  by  wiiich 
name  he  now  goes,  has  n^X  once  within  the  nu)nth  [tassed  the  ihreslioid  of 
her  confessional  which  adjoins  her  ehamhcr.  Little  do  they  tiiink  how  soon 
their  love-feast  will  cease      lla  !  that  is  iny  revenge  ! 

'•  Oh  !  what  were  my  feelings'  is  it  pos.sil)le  (or  any  other  man  to  un- 
derstand them  !  My  finger-nails  sank  into  tiie  tlesh  of  my  convulsively  closed 
hands.  I  was  tortured  with  fierct:  impatience.  1  died  to  see  her  dcjtart. 
Ah  '  joy,  she  went  at  last.  She  stole  cautiously  through  the  forest — she  be- 
held mo  not.  A  mountain  weight  fell  from  my  breast ;  I  sank  on  my  knees, 
and,  with  a  gush  of  tears,  tlianked  the  great  God  who  thus  had  indirectly 
befriended  me. 

"  Soon  afterwards  the  mutilated  villain  came  forth  gloating  with  .satisfied 
sensuality  and  avarice.  I  was  glad  to  me  this  ;  I  loved  that  life  should  have 
a  charm — a  value  in  his  eyes.  lie  stood  before  ine.  It  was  the  first  time 
we  had  met,  since  he  had  conducted  the  Lady  Emestina  and  myself  to  the 
subterranean  chambers.  1  know  not  what  he  read  in  my  countenance,  but 
he  looked  pale,  and  ill  at  ease  when  he  first  beheld  me — even  afterwards ; 
he  uttemp'ed  to  put  on  a  bullying  air,  but  it  would  not  do.  He  drew  a 
poignard  and  held  it  threateningly  in  the  only  hand  that  was  left  to  him.  I 
felt  :is  though  a  child  had  been  before  me,  and  I  laughed  in  dension.  There 
must  have  been  something  hideous  in  the  expression  of  my  countenance  at 
the  time,  for  I  could  feel  every  nerve  playing  convulsively,  and  1  saw  that 
he  wn»  fascinated — sptOI-bo'ind  by  the  singularity  of  my  manner. 

"  •  And  .so  you  d«al  in  poison''  1  said  calmly. — '  That  which  you  had 
purchased  for  me  you  have  sold  to  the  Countess  of  ("lermont — nay,  deny  it 
not,  villain — 1  have  it  from  your  own  lips:  just  now,  you  sold  her  more  for 
fifty  crowns.      The  price  is  in  your  gaberdine." 

"  He  was  evidently  confused,  and  yet  he  sought  to  make  the  most  of  his 
(Misiti.'in. 

"  '  Hy  what  right.  Sir  Monk,  pretend  you  to  interfere  between  a  lady  and 
h(!r  lover '' 

"  '  (Ml  I  yes,  the  right — I  understand.  But  then,  you  know,  you  desire  me, 
the  Ijady  Krnestina  l>eing  dead,  .o  follow  ic  the  path  wliieh  your  loathsome- 
ness has  traced.  Have  I  not  right  then  to  regard  you  as  a  rival,  and  interfere 
accordingly.' 

"  The  calmRCss  with  which  I  uttered  these  words  astonisheil  even  myself. 
Cceur-de-Fcr  Ptade  no  reply. 

"  '  Fiend  of  hell  I — agent  of  a  polluted  devil,  wearing  the  adored  form  of 
womanly  beauty  !'  I  resomed,  after  a  short  pauae,  and  with  almost  aepulchral 


m 


174 


THE    MONK    KMUHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


voice — '  better  had  you  never  forced  your  way  from  your  mother's*  womb, 
than  lived  to  sec  this  day.  Do  you  see  my  fingers'  ends — mark  how  convul- 
sively they  play — see  how  they  manifest  impatience  to  clench  themselves  in 
your  throat.  Come,  then,  to  your  fate — follow  me.  I  would  not  strangle 
you  before  this  portal.' 

"  My  eyes  looked  into  his  soul. 

"  Like  the  trembling  bird,  fascinated  by  the  serpent,  he  dropped  the  hand 
which  held  his  knife,  and  followed  me.  A  spell  was  over  him.  He  could  not 
resist.  1  saw  the  giant  turn  pale.  His  knees  trembled  as  he  walked.  Had 
he  been  the  devil,  I  think  I  should  have  compolled  him  to  my  stern  will. 

"  We  were  now  about  twenty  paces  from  th"!  trap-door  leading  to  the 
subterranean  apartments. 

"  '  Lift  that  door,'  I  commanded,  calmly,  but  in  the  tone  of  strong  deter- 
mination. 

"  '  What  do  you  intend  to  do ''  he  asked  in  trembling  accents,  and  quail- 
ing with  fear. 

"  '  Lift  that  door,'  1  repeated  in  a  voice  of  thunder. 

"'  I  must  have  looked  more  terrible  than  ever,  for  he  gazed  into  my  face 
with  increased  horror  in  his  own.  The  brushwood  was  removed — the  ring 
found,  and  the  top  lifted  from  the  entrance. 

"  '  And  now,'  I  said,  in  a  more  subdued  tone,  '  what  does  not  that  rnan 
deserve  who  could  find  it  in  his  heart  to  destroy  so  sweet  and  so  pure  a 
being  as  the  Lady  Ernestina  de  Boisoourt  ^' 

"  He  was  silent. 

"  '  In  taking  her  life,  you  have  taken  mine ;  yet  what  is  my  life  wiien 
compared  with  hers'  Oh!  God.'  1  pursued,  'that  one  so  lovely.  8<i  un- 
olTending.  should  have  had  her  days  cut  ofTby  such  a  thing  as  this  I  It  is  a 
dream.  I  cannot  believe  it.  It  is  too  horrible — too  incredible  I'  and  I 
groaned  in  agony  of  spirit. 

''  After  a  pause  of  a  few  moments,  I  resumed — 

"  '  Pray  while  you  can,  for  you  surely  die  the  '^»ath  of  the  damned.' 

"  His  agitation  increased — he  trembled  violently.  Still  fil!c<l  with  the 
instinct  of  seff-preservation,  he  again  raised  the  knife,  and  assumed  an  atti- 
tude of  hostility. 

"  '  Fool !'  1  muttered  sneeringly.  '  what  hope  you  to  do  witli  this'' 

"  I  caught  his  arm,  and  wrung  the  weapon  from  him  as  easily  as  I  should 
have  taken  it  from  the  g'"asp  of  a  child.    1  flung  it  into  the  cavern. 

"  '  Ah'  pardon,'  he  cried,  raising  liii*  solitary  hand  in  su|)|)lication  ;  '  if 
you  hop'  for  mercy  hereal'tcr,  pardon — I  cannot  die  here,  as  1  should  have 
died  upon  the  battle-field.  In  memory  of  the  Crrtss,  and  of  PalcvStiiip.  pardon. 
I  cannot  die — I  am  not  prepared  to  die  !' 

"  '  Ah  I  joy."  1  exclaimed  ;  "repeat  ihut  admission — it  soothes  my  stui  I. 
IjCI  me  see  you  suffer  the  torments  of  hell  even  before  you  r^'acii  it.  Krncs- 
tina.  beloved  and  dying  mistress  of  my  mm],  let  me  thus  avenge  you  !' 

''  I  approached  him  slowly — my  eye  w;is  rivetted  upon  him.      He    could 
not  even  make  an  effort  to  escape.     Giiijually  my  open  palms  clutched  his 
brawny  neck.     My  pressure  was  slow  but   vic<!-like.     More  ami  more  com 
presded  o?came  my  hand  at  each  moment ;  his  hair  seemed  to  stand  on  end  ; 


*■-  h 


THK    MONK    KNi'iHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


176 


the  blood  filled  up  the  dark  and  swelling  veins  of  his  brow  ;  the  eves,  red 
and  swollen,  were  soon  like  glassy  and  protruding  balls  without  expi^^sion. 
Oh  I  he  was  horrible  to  look  at,  and  yet  I  loved  to  look  upon  him,  as  I 
should  have  loved  to  gaze  upon  a  beautiful  picture,  for  1  felt  that  1  was 
offering  atonement  for  the  wrongs  of  my  beloved,  and  every  pang  inflicted 
upon  her  murderer  was  one  atom  taken  from  the  load  of  my  own  heavy  afflic- 
tion. At  last,  with  the  rattles  in  his  throat,  he  fell  ;  but  death  had  been 
too  merciful  to  him.  I  did  not  intend  it.  Lifting  him  in  my  arms,  I 
dashed  him  with  all  my  strength  to  the  bottom  of  the  cavern,  and  replaced 
the  trap-door,  which  I  carefully  covered  as  before. 

"  '  Horrible,  yel  most  just  fate  !'  sighed  de  Uoiscourt.  '  Well — well  in- 
deed, had  he  deserved  it.' 

"'Horrible  enough,' remarked  the  Monk-Knight,  calmly:  'and  yet  it 
was  mercy  compared  with  that  of ;'  b  accursed  C3ounteae.' 

All  shuddered,  but  no  one  offered  a  remark  ;  and  thus,  the  Monk-Knigiit 
continued  : 

"  My  vengeance  was  yet  only  half  complete.  I  hastened  to  the  fiishop's 
mansion  at  Clermont.  I  asked  for  the  Countess.  She  was  in.  She  had 
just  returned  from  .'lor  damnable  appointment  with  Cceur-dc-Fer.  I  sent  up 
my  name,  with  a  mejiaage  that  I  had  come  to  confess  her.  I  knew  what  in- 
ference she  would  draw  from  this,  for  1  have  iuid  experience  enough  to  know 
that  when  one  of  that  brotherhood — whose  vices  tiad  onc<»  filled  rne  with 
horror — sent  to  a  woman  a  communication  of  this  kind,  it  was  intended  to 
convey  that  another  should  be  added  to  the  sins  for  which  he  gave  her  abso- 
lution. 

"  Promptly  was  1  admitted  into  her  Iwudoir.  She  was  there.  My  soul 
was  filled  with  loathing  for  the  wretch,  and  yvl  1  dissembled.  There  she 
s.at  or  rather  reclined — that  gross  and  sensual  woman — still  flushed  and  reek- 
ing from  the  arms  of  C(Bur-<le-I''er.  As  I  wanted  thu  poison  she  had  obtained 
from  Cceur-(le-Fer.  it  wa.s  essential  that  1  should  play  the  hypocrite.  1  did 
so.  Oh  !  lu>w  I  loathed  myself  for  it.  I  protended  thai  she  had  guessed 
right  as  to  my  i)ar8ion  for  the  Lady  Ernestina,  but  that  now  my  feelings  had 
entirely  fhanged,  that  1  had  become  sated  with  her  posse-esion  and  desired 
her.  Tl  il  in  order  to  effect  this  with  security,  it  was  necessary  to  put  the 
Barones  out  of  the  way  ;  that  1  had  some  poison,  but  wanted  more,  with 
which  nil*'  iiuist  immediately  supply  me. 

"  Unsuspecting!  V,  she  went  to  the  spot  where  she  had  deposited  (hat  which 
hud  purchased  from  Coeur-de-Fer,  and  handed  it  to  me  with  a  meaning 
sinilf. 

'•  '  'I'hire  IS  death  in  that  wiihm  ilu  twenty-four  hours,"  she  exclaimed, 
'then  am  i  yours,  without  interruption,  a,. >i  lor  ever'  Hut  oh  !  I  caiinnt 
wail  until  tiien.  First,  lot  me  indulge,  ;ui(l  then  impose  ponance  upon  the 
overwliiliui'.ig  love  I  hear  you.' 

"  Shr  was  partly  uiidross^MJ.  She  <  aiiglil  me  by  my  rob*;,  and  drew  mo 
to  her  side  on  the  couch,  manifesting  a  passion  so  uiifeminine  tint  my  disgust 
increased.  With  a  cold,  calm  eye,  1  surveyed  the  <;harm8  she  forced  upon 
Tiy  attentioD.     They  might  have   found  favor    in  the  eyes  of  anr)tlier     lu 


17<i 


TIIK    MONK    KMlJlir    Ol     >r.    JOHN. 


mint',    they    were    hideous.     'I'he    inliimy    of  the   iiiiiul    had   iie«lroyed    all 
oeaiity  ■ 

'• '  Not  here,'  1  said  coldly.  '  Forgive  me  it  I  am  weak  eiiuu^'h  to  have 
some  wriii)le.  I  eannot  desecrate  the  coiifesisional.  The  nii^hi  is  waning, 
(io  forlii,  even  as  you  are,  and  we  will  seek  the  cover  of  the  forest.  'I'hat 
ample  cloak  and  cavalier's  hat  will  sutfieieiitly  dittguise  you  :  it  looks,  in- 
deed, an  if  it  had  heen  often  used  for  the  same  convenient  purpose — perhaps 
this  very  night,'  and  I  looked  (ixe<lly  at  her. 

"  '  By  all  the  saints  of  Paradise  I'  swore  the  lying  woman,  '  hence  I  have 
not  stirred  this  night.' 

•■  •  J3y  all  the  fiends  of  hell,  you  have  !'  I  responded  savagely,  striking 
my  hand  heavily,  at  the  same  time,  on  a  table  that  stood  near. 

••  She  started,  looked  surprised,  hut  answered  not. 

"'  Nay,  nay.'  said  I,  calmly;  tor  I  felt  that  [  had  committed  myself — 
'  ihtnk  not  that  I  mind  those  little  infidelities.  You  know  the  man  is  strong 
within  me,  and  heeds  not  of  the  woman,  but  her  se.v.  What  care  I, 
though  a  sctire  of  others  feed  ii[)()ii  the  dish  of  which  I  taste.  Hut  come — I 
have  a  great  fancy  for  de  Boiscourt's  summer-house.  The  air  is  cool,  the 
scene  is  .still,  and  fashion«d  most  to  love — perhaps  to  crime.' 

••  •  And  where  is  tiiat?'  she  aaked. 

"  •  Nay,  nay,  sweet  innocent,  you  do  hut  jest.  Even  where  the  love  you 
deiiin  to  offer  me  was  tirst  bestowed  upon  the  menial,  ( 'oeur-de-Fer,  and  that 
within  this  hour.  A  ^ood  and  proper  man  is  Coeurde-Fer,  and  om;  well 
fitted  to  a  lady's  titate  litit  come,  fair  f'ountess,  let  me  don  your  cloak. 
Ah'  there,  you  look  most  bravely.  That  hat  and  plume  right  weM  b<!c.omes 
ycHi.  ''ome  ciuickly — my  ravishment  of  joy  at  what  awaits  ii.s  both  will 
scarwtiy  kee|)  within  r.s  Uiuiids.' 

•'  •  ^m.  dear  Monk."  she  expostulated,  '  why  to  the  forest  of  ,\uvergne' 
See  you  u«t  here  all  to  warm  the  soul  to  sweet  desire  !  Ah  I  do  not  go,  I 
pray  you.     It  will  be  too  late  before  I  can  return.' 

'•  •  Ijat*"  erwKigh.'    I    muttered   fierci  ly ,   and   between  my  clenched  teeth 
*  (.'ome — come,'  1  continued   more  calmly  ;  '  Come,  wed  you  to  your  future 
mate.     The  love  that  is  ui  reserve  lor  you  never  had  its  parallel.' 

•  1  grasped  her  iiriii  rudely  :  1  luade  her  follow  me.  My  steps  were  hur- 
ried but  measured.  She  iiad  some  dilHcully  in  keeping  up  with  me.  At 
length,  and  m  silence,  we  rearhed  the  summer-house. 

"  •  Not  ht'i-e,"  I  (tbsfi- ivl,  a^  |  sj^w  her  about  to  enter.  '  There  is  a  spoi 
li.ird  In  .  ..I'  --iiiled  Xo  the  j.i.rpose.  that  nature  herst-lf  will  oe  startled  at  what 
shall  be  enacted  there." 

"  I  now  nould  (H-rceive  from  lier  hesitation,  that  she  l>egaii  to  entertain 
some  slight  distrust  of  my  purpose.  I  threw  off  the  mask  :  its  load  was  in- 
supportable,     i  dragged,  rather  than  led,  her  to  the  trap-d<K)r. 

■  •  What.'  I  .laid  to  her  fiercely,  '  do  you  repent  your  promise  ' — come, 
^unii',' 

■  Ve  vrere  near  the  entrance  lo  the  subterranean  passage.  I  lifted  the 
tdiHJor. 

'  Fiend  !'  I  said,  pointing  to  the  cave,  '  ihe  court  of  love  is  thei9>' 

■^  '4ibe  otaiad  Jowa — the  place  was  black  as  Erebus. 


THE    MONK    K\I(!MT    OK    ST.    JOHN. 


177 


"  '  Ah  !   I  ff-ar — I  tremblo^I  know  not  what  to  think — it  appals  me." 

"  •  Nay,  iht!  placo  is  n«;i;l,  mnat  meni,  for  KiiultT  lovers  like  oiirselvwi,'  1 
hoarsely  whiMpend.  '  roiuc  my  iinpaliiiicf  rannot  wait  I  have  not  time 
to  wa8t(.'  ill  empty  wiirds.' 

"  i  stood  upon  ihf  iliinl  .^tep  Ir-adiiin;  to  lh(!  cavern  Her  liiind  w;w  in 
nnine.  I  drev.  iitr  dowiiwardn  with  a  Mlront;  arm  .She  uttenni  .i  loud 
shriek,  and  my  impatuiiico  redoubled.  1  had  been  well  tutored  how  to  act 
111  that  abyss  ol'  darkiie.ss :  I  had  provided  a  dark  lantern  on  my  way  to  the 
residence,  and  this  1  now  lijrhled. 

"  The  murky  ploom  gave  to  the  [dace  the  apj>earance  of  a  |mndeiuoniuiii. 

"  '  Oh,  (J(k1  !  where  am  I ' — wiiai  do  you  inlrnd  to  do  '  (iood  Heaven  ' 
wlio  is  that'" 

'•  '  That,'  I  said  steinly,  still  retainiiif;  my  tirni  firnap  of  her  hand,  •  id  one 
you  ou('lil  to  know  Look  at  him  wt;l!,  murderess.  Of  a  verily  he  is  a 
handsome  rogue,  and  much  improved  since  he  dallied  in  your  arms  this  day, 
Ij«)ok  well  at  him,  1  say.' 

•'  HoldinfT  the  light  low,  I  pressed  her  head  downward  also.  .She  wiild 
not  but  recofjnizo  l\w  feature.'),  horribly  distorted  even  as  they  were  Oh  ! 
happiness  to  my.self ;  he  was  not  dead  ;  he  still  breathetl  and  mr)ved. 

"  '  That  IS  your  lover,'  I  remarked,  calmly.  '  I  have  brought  you  here, 
not  to  Med  with  me,  but  with  him. 

"  The  Counters  now  began  to  comprehend  the  full  extent  of  her  position. 
She  uttered  piereinp  shrieks,  which  i  feared  might  be  heard  from  without. 

"  In  the  violeiiee  of  my  hate  and  rage.  I  damned  her,  and  struck  her  on 
the  lips.  The  blood  gushed  forth  upon  my  hands,  and  so  filled  her  month 
that  she  could  not  repeat  her  cries. 

"  •  Now  woman — accursed  woman,'  1  muttered  through  my  clo8«<i  teeth, 
'  know  that  1  have  enlrapi)wl  you  to  your  destruction.  Never  again  shall 
you  behold  the  sunliglu  of  (Jo.!  i  heaven.  In  bitterness  and  in  anguish,  worse 
than  deatli.  shall  you  pay  the  penalty  of  the  black  deed  which,  to  gratify  the 
wishes  of  a  devil,  hiis  robbed  me  of  an  angel — ay,  basely  killed  the  Bweetoet 
flower  that  ever  shed  iIh  sweetness  on  a  lover's  bre.ist.  Yf  :>,  inhuman 
wretch.  cnv)-nomed  toad,  upon  whom  I  i<pit,  I  know  it  all.  I  know  you 
purcliused  poison,  and  poured  it  in  the  ear  of  her  I  loved,  entailing  certain 
death.  But  1  have  no  time  .  deal  in  scolding  words.  You  have  destroyed 
two  glowing  hearts,  thai  (ipo  i  iiad  knit  in  'iolit!:i  love  together  You  have 
quenched  two  fires,  that  but  fir  your  vile  an  and  practice  had  been  nmiuench- 
able  ;  hut  I  ' n-  rcTcnged.  'I'hm  is  your  fate.  Iiel  lh<-  woi.ns  that  crawl  from 
the  vile  l)'('_  of  your  confeder;>t(!  in  blood,  pander  to  and  siing  you  m  your 
lewdness.  There  is  your  loathsomo  lover,  cling  to  hiir).  S«e.  there  la 
breath  in  him  yet.  Try  your  .lez^^bel  arts  upon  him  Renew  his  liti  and 
vigor  that  he  may,  for  once  again,  minister  to  your  wicked  will,  bin  so 
feebly  as  to  leave  the  craving  deathless  at  your  heart  while  life  remains. 
And  think,  while  life  remains  to  you,  that  thuH  the  li-ady  Ernestina  ih 
reventred . ' 

"  I  threw  her  on  thn  d&mp  earth — 1  spat  upon  her  an  upon  a  toad,  then 
placing  the  lantern  on  the  ground,  drew  fmin  betieath  my  nu)nki»b  garb 
strong  thongs  I  had  prepared  for  the  i>ur[KMC.  1  laatted  her,  Mtrugglmg  to 
12 


178 


TH'/    MONK    KNIOHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


^''    hi 


free  herself  and  howling  in  her  despair,  face  to  face  with  Cour-<le-Fer,  and 
uttering  curses  upoi  thorn  both,  consigned  them  to  their  fate. 

"  <  All  (his  may  seem  cruel,  unqianly,'  ho  continncd,  aAer  a  pause  ;  '  biit 
who,  like  ine,  has  sulTered — who,  like  iiic,  has  had  each  fibre  of  his  heart  torn 
asunder' — -."ho,  liki  me,  has  lost  an  Eraestina'  The  damp  dungeon  the 
Counters  n«<w  inhabits  would  be  paradise,  were  she  but  spared  to  »bare  it 
with  me.  Ah,  what  is  this  love,  this  tremendous  emotion,  this  remarkable 
desire- -•"bat  is  it,  I  ask,  if  it  be  not  a  portion  of  the  Divinity — a  part  and 
parcel  of  God  himself,  who  in  all  love.  Were  it  not  so,  the  mere  possession 
were  sufficient  to  eiisurc  the  perfect  joy,  But  it  is  not  that — not  possession  a 
thousand-fold  repealed — but  the  subtlety  of  pleasure  th;it  kills  with  languish- 
ment,  ;t:id  myi.  :v,  and  delight.  All  this  have  I  felt,  all  this  do  I  acknow- 
ledge ;  for  Ci'od  made  man  and  woman  in  original  beauty  and  power,  that 
most  they  might  evince  their  adoration  and  gratitude  for  the  mysterious  and 
divino  boon,  and  if,  while  degenerating  themselves,  they  have  suffered  pus- 
»iun  to  degenerate  into  mere  animal  desire,  it  is  by  reason  of  the  depravity, 
wjiich  has  been  the  growth  of  civi'iizallon  and  its  consequent  crime.  As 
first  given  to  man  it  is  the  essence  of  purity  itself. 

'• '  There  was  a  time,'  pursued  the  Monk,  who  spoke  wi'.I  great  solemnity 
and  emphasis,  and  feeling,  •  when  I  thought  differentlv-  -when  the  hook  of 
knowledge  of  the  divine  goodness  was  closed  to  me.  I  had  not  kucwn 
woman — I  hud  not  learned  the  fulness  of  God's  love  to  man  by  her  crcativjii. 
Hut  ab  !  It  is  vain  to  think  or  speak  of  these  things.  The  cup  of  deep 
hun.j.n  joy  has  been  exhausted,  de  Doiscourt ;  my  soul  thanks  you  for  the 
lesson  you  have  taught  me  even  in  t.h^  irms  of  your  adored  wife.  Ernes- 
tiua !  oh  Krnestina,'  and  with  a  will  j/joan,  he  sank  at  her  side,  once  moro 
And  forever. 

"  '  Ab<lallah,  dear  Al»dallah,'  murmured  the  enfeebled  voice  of  her  whom 
he  mourned,  and  who  had  only  awake:ied  from  a  delicious  reverie,  in  which 
visions  o(  future  love  and  existence  with  him  were  up|)ermo8t — '  give  me 
your  hand  ' 

"  She  pre4B.sed  i!  faintly  yet  forvcrilly  to  her  lips,  muttered  a  few  cheering 
words,  rai8«'d  her  blue  eyes  to  his,  while  :i  rich  glow  tinged  her  cheek,  sank 
hor  head  upon  her  bosom,  and  breathed  her  last,  looking  in  death  as  beautiful 
as  in  life 

"  •  So,  so  -even  so,'  said  \bdallah,  wildly  ;  '  then  the  dream  is  over,  J 
cannot  wrop~ my  tears  are  dried  :  yet  who  shall  separate  us'' 

"  T.ikiuR  suddenly  I'roin  liis  biciM  a  .small  vk.I,  he  applied  it  to  his  lips, 
ih'r,  threw  hiuiself  prostrate  iijion  the  bo<ly,  around  which  he  firmly  entwined 
b  .4  arms  When  de  lloii-court,  seeing  all  waa  over  with  the  Ijatly  Kriu» 
lina,  apiiroaeliiHl  fin  the  pur|>o!U!  of  gently  removing  Uie  Monk  Kni/^'l.t 
he  to<j  wa.**  dead." 


THK    MONK    KNKJMT    ^^    >-T.    JOHN. 


179 


CHAP  r  E  1{    X  X  X  1 J  J 


Jjono  and  de«;p  was  t)ie  M>rruw  titut  rei|;ntMi  in  the  chatif..(i  of  Auvert^no, 
after  tlie  iin.'laiicholy  dpailm  of  tlu'  Mohk-Krii)»lit  and  th«;  l,adv  Krnestina. 
A  heavy  and  auiul>ilatiM(;  blow  hud  bci'ii  Htruck  iipnii  tin  lirariM  of  their 
friiMidn,  and  Un  a  aeasoii  de|iriVHd  ;ne  alniust  siultifird  iiiiiid  ol  the  power  of 
leactinii.  ['\>t  inoiitht>  nil  within  wa.s  civeii  a.>-  a  di^titirt.  'I'lic  dt^'pest  monin- 
ing  had  liettn  ordt-rt'd  hy  ih."  Hanm  lor  iim  iiiiiin;di;ae  hoiiM'hold  and  fL'taniiTS. 
and  many  and  rt^verentia)  ma»eoN,  at  winch  the  tantilv  soleuiiily  ausiuted, 
were  said  lor  tin;  r<'pos«'  i>i'  liie  Monjy  of  tht;  (lt;ci';ujf'd.  No  one  wpoke  to  the 
other  of  tix'  deparl<'d,  hut  it  was  ele-ar  to  all  that  the  luind  of  each  was  al>- 
Mirhed  in  refieetKiiis,  t*priii<;in^r  noi  only  from  the  intensitv  of  tlieir  ill-eon- 
ceai-  I  love,  hnl  from  the  Had  fvcnlii  whieli  had  folloaed  its  ohntrneiion. 

Time.  Iiowever,  which  a  wise  dis[>ensation  of  th«  Holy  One  hah  willed  to 
Miflen  and  allay  the  nuMt  terrible  (d  all  ^riels  ineidtiiit  to  man,  aceoni|j|i»hi!d 
ll«  usual  la.^k.  and  i;radnally  tin-  re«'olleelion  of  ihe  loved  and  refjreltfd 
wa.s  aeeoin)ianiiMl  liv  ;i  H(Miiiiin<.;  and  suh.hi'  d  ruijret  thai  wa.-;  i-ather  melan- 
chuly  than  painful  'then,  for  the  lirbt  tune,  they  bo^aii  to  live  again  in 
iheniBflves  and  for  carh  othei.  Hiiherto  not  a  word  rrkitiiii;  to  ilu-  enwaf(e- 
nieiit  <>xactt'd  for  their  ha|ipine»a  by  the  Lady  Krnetilina.  h:ul  been  littered  by 
de  ])oitK!oiirt  lo  JInirieite.  Iiiit  now  that  the  tcimion  ot  their  ^nef-devotod 
feelin(i><  had  been  in  some  de^jree  relieved,  the  heait  li'lt  doiildy  impelled 
lo  teiiderni'.sh  ami  love. 

"  Henriette,  deareat,'  said  the  Baron,  as  they  Hatahnie  on  the  eve  of  their 
marriat;*'.  m  the  moonlight,  whieh  eaitt  itb  p.ile  rayw  ihionuh  the  opened 
lattice  ol  ihe  liudy  l'',riu'.sliii;rs  lone  uii<H>ciipied  boudoir — "  tin-  pa.sl  setiniB  to 
me  to  ha'.e  itecn  u  ilif.ini.  in  which  I  had  loraolten  not  only  ntyself—tlial 
were  nolhiiiK — hut  ihc  dear  heijuesit  so  generouslv  iK^stowed  by  her  wIki.sc 
m<;i«ory  we  yet  nuiiirn,  as  ihc  best  and  sweeteMt  of  wonunlviiid.  I'urdoii 
me,  dear  Henrieile,  if  iny  lips  have  not  spoken  the  love  1  now  most  deeply 
feel  for  yon." 

"  \iui  had  \ou,  de  lloiscourt,  spoken  to  me  earlier,  the  illusion  would 
have  li'.H'ii  di'stroyed.  i  coulil  no)  Irive  piBUlied  my  love  for  him  who  could  so 
soon  tear  from  hm  heari  iiio  iniaijt!  of  such  ;i  wif-  aa  he:-,  the  friend  I  deeply 
lovi'd  invsell' — ay,  Willi  all  I  he  love  a  man  eoiild  entertain." 

"  8ome  words  eseaped  her  onee,  vvlieii,  strange  sh^  hat.;d  nie,"  said  the 
Harou,  as  he  ei. folded  the  anunaiiJ  ,iiul  ardniil  yitl  lo  hi:*  throbbing  heart, 
"  whii'li  then  porplexe.il,  hnl  now  enlighten." 

'•  And  thesi-  were'"  queried  Henriette,  ail,  leaning  forward,  she  Kioked  up 
into  his*  eyes. 

"That  ol\."n  in  yiur  arms,  love,  :>iid  before  ihe  Monk-Knight's  visit  lo 
\uvergiie,  the  had  sijjhed  her  soul  fonli  to  luni  m  passionate  desire." 

The  cheek  o(  ihe  vouiif;  giil  hei:am  ■  cnmaon.  tihe  dropp-vl  her  eyea  **e- 
ueath  ihe.jr  lonjj  dark  liu»l.es,  hui  hei  inee  ou  hi«  SjBom.  liul  replied  nol. 


i     Ik 


180 


Till,    Mn.Nh     h\l<iHr    m     ST.    JOHN 


m 


luit 


f. 


m< 


•'  I  inultTMiiiil  !l  all,  (lt;irt>Ht,'  iiid  iln-  Itiiroii,  m  he  proMpH  her  InnHly  to 
his  heart.  ■  In  ilic  .ilroiiy  i  xnicnicnt  nt  y<"ir  rfclmRs,  vmi  uitli  woril.-*  of 
fire  calk'd  u|i  tin-  iiiiaf;e  ot'  AImIjiIIuIi  Iti'tort'  liir  cluwiiii;  Henm',  wliiln  aUc, 
not  jri'iiertms  l<"».s,  (Vd  the  yiiiiq  paH.xKin  yon  hail  (■oiicnvi'ij  for  rii*'  '"^ay, 
swfcU'Ht,  1,-i  11  not  HO  '" 

Sill!  HenritUf  was  siU'iii,  hui  the  lieavinij  of  Udt  bosotn  a^niiinl  ht.s  own, 
and  the  incrcasiiin  and  involiiniiirv  chwiciH'.-ts  of  htr  cmhrac*!.  s.ilisfii-d  iho 
Haron  lli.il  ii''  had  corrfclly  Mtiriiu«<d. 

"  Ttdl  m-.  '  hf  |iiirsu»'d,  temifrly,  and  fiilcMJ  with  a  d.'«ir«'  to  ohiam  a  full 
avowal  froiu  Iut  own  li|it(,  of  iht>  pa»«ioii  »\\r  had  ih'vci  adiiiilti'd  to  imii, 
"  that  It  wa:^  not  iMraiihe  it  waw  the  wish  of  the  dtsar  KrneMnia  iliat  yoii 
should  Im!  my  lindf,  that  you  have  coiisi.'iiU'd  to  U'coim-  such." 

"  Ah,  iny  own  heart  loo  fully  rc-tpondi'd,"  she  iiiurinurcd.  '•  I  loiiLf  h  iVf» 
lovt'd  you,  di'  IJoi^-ourt.  Hi'liurt:  you  left  for  l'al('«liiif  my  heart  waa  yourn. 
And  mucli  as  I  adored  the  dear  Ija«ly  I'lrnc8iina,  iny  love  for  her  waa  the 
greater,  becauw  M\v  had  been  filled  with  yours.  Mill,  even  wilhoul  that, 
there  wan  soiiiethiM<;  ho  .superhiiinaii  in  her  lovelinesjs  that — uh  '  I  cannot 
speak  it,"  she  eoiitinued,  huryimr  li(;r  face  mure  deeply  on  hm  (;het<l 

"  Tell  me.  love — tell  me  all  you  felt,  all  you  lhouj»hl.  What  bond  no 
Bwoct  as  confidence  between  those  who  truly  love  '  I'ell  me,  dearest,  I  im- 
plore you — you  know  you  are  to  lie  mine — my  w.fe,  l4i-morrow." 

"  Sn  deeply  I  loved  her  beauty — with  Miieh  passion,"  stie  returned,  assunj- 
in^  a  sudden  eouraf;e,  and  raisiiii;  hur.ielf  up  to  H'aw,  still  blushing',  into  his 
face,  "  that  I  wished  myself  Kudolph  to  supply  the  absence  of  her  lord." 

"  You  did  I  '  exelaiinod  de  Hoiseoiirl.  with  an  emotion  ho  had  yet  never 
manifested  since  the  death  of  the  Baroness,  and  claspinR  Henrietteeoiivubively 
in  his  embrace,  "  what  a  Rift  has  she  bequeathed  to  me.  Now,  then,  I  love 
again — tlie  desolation  of  my  heart  is  poiio,  fur  Krnestina  yet  survives  in  tlx; 
mind  and  person  of  hor  friend  and  pupil." 

"  All  the  fondness  that  one  woman  could  lavish  upon  anotlier,"  pursued 
the  open-hearted  and  ijenerous  jrirl.  '  we  exehauf^ed.  Oh  '  what  passion — 
what  fervent,  yet  endearing  pa-ssioii,  j^lowed  in  the  soul  of  the  preceptrest*  tu 
wiioin  1  owe  all  of  love  I  ever  felt.  S wool ,  sweet  wore  the  words  of  tendernc* 
that,  spoken  ihrouRli  me  to  the-siroiif;  imaije  called  up  to  her  mind.  c;ime  .m 
from  an  anRel.  What  she  said  1  knew  must  be  rii»ht — what  she  rlid  I  knew 
must  be  good.  Yes,"  she  continued  in  a  tremulous  murmur,  ••  when  Iv.njf 
at  my  side,  with  loosened  hair,  which  she  |M?rmitted  so  lo  remain,  bin-au.^e 
it  was  passion  to  behold  it  in  all  its  fulnesu  and  beauty — her  features  ealui, 
and  holy,  and  serene,  even  as  were  .\lMlallahs,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  a 
humid  fire  that  t<dd  all  the  aotlness  of  her  .soul — nay  more — for  why  should  I 
hiile  It  from  liim  who  wears  my  fullest  confidence,  when  excited  with 
adoration  of  the  warm,  glowinp  heart  of  her  who  seemed  utterlv  tincoiiscious 
of  her  own  transcendent  charm.s,  I  bared  with  trembling  himd.s,  hi-r  beauteous 
form,  and  found  those  the  perfection  ol'  (rod's  crowninfj  work  ol"  loveliness, 
no  lanpuage  c-an  tell  the  einotion  of  my  heart — the  deep  and  uiwelfish  love 
that  filled  my  .soul  for  her." 

"  Sirin^re,  .stiantje.  yet  most  adorable  ^\t\,''  said  ihe  Karon,  as  again  he 
prefstnl  her  madly  to  his  iieart. 


ri' 


>!'  \t    us::  t'r  (•^   sr,  john. 


181 


•■  I  liavi'  Huid  ili;.i  !  M>lii.|  iiivh,  ii  i;.i(ltilj.|i."  t.|ie  rrBiinn-*!.  hliitiliinK,  ye' 
avrrtiiit'  not  liir  <r.iw  Irum  liin,  "  Oh  '  tliix  wan  not  Cor  my  wikc.  Itnt  liorx 
Y'vr  myHflC  1  ciind  nut.  'I'd  luok  ii|m>ii  Ikt  Wi.&  tn  int;  suffloipiit.  To  leaH* 
my  ••¥"><  ii|)oii  III  r  Ixiiuly  was  all  I  asktd  lor  mysolf;  lint  !  would  Imvo 
fiiin  |po8SCHMf>(l  till!  [lownr  to  iciu'W  in  licr  thoH'  hv/vvI  scnKalioiiH  wliicli 
kriowl('(!>{i'  iiiailn  ho  tirccssary  to  li<!r  lia|i|iiinn(i.  Ilati  I  had  a  hivcr  whiiin 
I  Jovcd  III  iiiadnr.vt,  my  prtiatfist  joy  hail  hri'ii  to  fi-r  him,  not  my  own,  hut 
iliawini;  'loiii  that  h.  avi'uly  form.  thuM  lantruoi-lioamint'  cynH,  and  thuv 
viiluptuoim  Imsoin.  th»    IuIih-nn  oC  the  I'urhantintJ  lovi;  that  wantoiipd  in  her 

Mill!   " 

"  lnroni|)arultl(^  j»irl !"  said  do  Hoiwourt,  hall  wild  with  imnsion,  "  I  never 
kni'W  you  until  now.  Oh  !  KrnRHtina,  hloRwd  KriifHlina,"  and  he  raiwd  hiH 
rlii^ficd  hanilH  to  hoavi.'ii.  How  I  Uivi-  her,  even  lor  her  very  lovfl  for  you. 
Suy,  HWeetest,"  he  (Hiiitimied,  addreHKinfr  the  agitated  Hcnriettf,  "  even  iu 
the  liiituwa  111' our  love  we  will  think  of  her,  shall  we  not'" 

"Oh'  yes,  de  lioiM'uurt,  yes,"  she  murinured — "no  love  m)  sweet  an 
that  wliieh  her  ehetmlied  image  Manctifies  and  approves  Not  dearer  to  yourjMsIf 
ii-  her  memory  than  to  me.  ('ould  I  call  her  hack  to  earth  thiK  hour,  t«i  taste 
<>iioe  more  the  cup  of  liuppineMi,  freely  would  I  conM'nt  to  yii.'ld  you  to  her — 
anil  yet,  de  Hoiseourt,  not  slipht  is  the  love  I  bear  you." 

"  Knell  word  you  titter  enters  into  my  soul,  like  a  new-enkitidled  passion," 
rxi'laimed  the  exeited  de  Hoiseourt.  ''  Kill  me,  torture  me  with  the 
happinesK  to  feel  that  there  is  one  yet  livm^f,  »<i  like  in  tlioutrhl  unto  niyself, 
that  scarcely  seem  we  separate.  Your  wohIm,  tar  more  even  thati  your 
cxeeedinj(  beauty,  nedueo  my  soul.  I  love,  adore  that  woman  beyond  all 
human  precedent,  wlio  so  confides,  before  the  iBarriaRe  hour,  in  hint  to 
whom  she  yields  her  all." 

"  Nay,  what  nierit  in  that '"  said  the  still  blushin(>  ami  generous  girl. 
She  loves  but  weakly — has  poor  opinion  of  her  lover's  honor,  who  would 
bury  in  her  secret  heart,  the  day  precedin^r  the  fulfilment  of  the  nuptial  rite, 
that  which  she  pines  for  the  morrow  to  unfold." 

"  In  all  iliiii(j8  are  you  still  myself,  dearcjit  love.  'Tis  rank  hy|HM'risy  in 
the  maiden  of  today  to  seem  ifrnorant  in  the  eyes  of  the  in:m  who  i.s  to  be 
the  future  partner  of  her  life,  of  that  which  she  will  lulinit  as  the  wife  ol 
lo-niorrow.  Dear,  dear  llenrietle,  your  feclmjfs,  your  wMitiments,  madileii 
me  in  their  likeness  to  my  own  ,  to-morrow  is  an  age  asunder  from  the  pre 
will  ,   I  eaniiDt  wail  for  it." 

'The  p.a88ioii  which  her  strange  yet  endearing  admissions  had  been  gradu- 
ally raising,  now  knew  no  bound  lie  caught  her  to  his  heart,  he  impriiitcil 
|ias.Huiiiate  kisses  on  her  lips,  and  while  exciting  her,  not  more  by  his  cu 
resjMS  than  by  his  burning  words,  bore  her  fainting  in  his  arms  to  the  nuplial- 
UmI,  hallowed  by  the  endearments  which  »o  often  had  been  exchanged  belwoeii 
her  and  the  mistretu*  she  so  loved. 

There  was  no  upbraiding — no  struggling— no  reproaching — no  hypocnsy 
with  her  who  knew  that  she  wiin  to  be  a  wife  in  name  even  oi;  the  morrow. 
She  made  no  attempt  to  arrest  her  own  confiding  love,  as  with  envious  eyes 
he  suiveyed  the  diaptry  that  veiled  the  beauty  of  her  whom  he  roparded  al- 
ready ;it"liif  wle.     One  image,  it  was  a  vivid  one.  he  painted  to  her  imagi 


i 


IK. 


THf    M  >Ni.     KN.'llir    OK    nT.     'OHN. 


^^ 


.,><^ 


iiaiion,  in  ^lowiii!'  l.iii.;ii:ii;o  The  tender  .turf  voluptu.nm  Hnnne'tc  iromblwl 
»f  ^hr  lie-tril  il  'riiiu'.uiii;  litr  :triiis  :ir<i  ui<l  Iilh  i)««-k,  and  .iii.twerini;  Iii4 
PHjier  kiwMV  from  Iht  inniM  iiiid  ^\v»>llii)t>  lip".  tiT  I'lnbratv,  if  not  no  ettufr, 
\^  iH  y>'i  iii)|):<<«»iiii<.)'il  it*  Ills  >iMii 

•MviutM  iilii|itin>iih  wit'f."  Ii>'  »xrl:iuiu;<l  (u'f«'»'lv,  in  the  agony  of  Uid 
ihni)i.'lrt  ili;ii  alu!  w;m  wIkiIIv  lii- 

••  !\1y  tiuslmnd,"  »ln'  imiimurfil — '•  uh '  inv  liimhind.' 

■•  W'hni  ;i  lifr  of  |);iN!tiiiii  -«liall  be  iiiirs,''  ;i!,'iiin  ri'nnrk'*d  di'  lioiw^our!,  in 
tlir-  saint'  tniic, 

Ifrnrirlif  (•('itid  iini  sj)i;ik-    tyiihf,  of  it'iidiTin'ss  wi'rr  lu'r  only  anRW«r. 

••  And  all  iliiH  ul.'vviiii,'  bciiiity  sli'tll  Ik-  iiiiiii'  bv  riif  ofrhun'li  lo-inorrnw," 
said  the  MiMDiii,  iraziii;:  lii!<  >«iul  throii:,'li  litM'  liiill'-cloM'd  eyes 

At  that  iniiiiHMil  a  licaw  and  iiiicrriain  fixiiHtcp  wa;<  hoard  oroMinfl|^  lh« 
llmir  of  the  Imudoir.  and  iiri'scntly  llir  haiirllr  <if  ihi"  dcnir  of  the  bi-d-rooin 
WAH  vioji'nlly  Inrncd,  but  in  »o  ronfiiitcd  a  niannrr  iliat  it  w:ui  not  until  the 
iaiisc  of  iiHarlv  i  niiinMc.  that  il  vifided  to  tin'  trial  Tlit!  <loor  wa«  nn- 
bolted,  bill  even  ifi  ihi.H  MJiorl  interval  Kenneitc  and  her  hnnband  bad  tim« 
to  regain  llieir  coinpowiire.  the  former  inoviiip  forward  to  awertain  who 
w,i,-i  there  The  liorror  of  both  may  be  eonceived,  \vh<*ii.  as  the  door  (lew 
open,  the  < 'oiinlf.s.«  of  < 'lerinoiil.  pale.  ha);<;ai'd,  di vented  of  all  her  former 
beauty,  and  wrinkled  with  Neenniijr  ane.  app.ared  with  (flaring  hvcm  before 
them,  her  dr('s.><  .soiled  and  torn,  her  richi  and  Hhriv«lled  arm  iipliftiiif;  a  rusty 
knu'ti-biailf,  .\liieh  wa.i  peniited  threateiiiiit>ly  forward. 

'•  Vi-nneanee  upon  the  fiend  Monk  '"  she  lioarselv  eruMl,  and  foaming  ;it 
the  incnilh — "  death  to  Ins  detested  pai  iiiiour  ''" 

ShcNiriiek  t'ranlieally  at  \\v  boNoiii  4if  llennetie,  who  vva8((M»  terrified  at  tlie 
.ippariiion  to  think  ot  her  own  d»n<;er.  and  had  HJie  not  at  the  mumiMit  aiink 
.iwoonin^^  iinthertoor.  not  even  the  (|iiiek  and  iinpetuoiis  aetioii  ofdu  Hoi.<u-oiirt, 
who  ruHlied  fnrwardio  iroeive  the  blow  inten(l<><l  for  the  affrighted  girl,  would 
have  prevented  the  oiij<f"f  of  the  enranjjnd  woman  Ironi  b«Mnjj  attained.  As  it 
w.i.-.,  ;hi  knife  en'cred  nearlv  an  inch  hi.-<  own  bie:i«t,  aini  had  wrtainly  inflicted 
a  more  dan^^eroim  if  not  i  i.^il  wound,  had  he  not  rapidly  thrown  up  lii»  arm  m 
defenee.  Th*'  iiige  of  the  Harnn  was  terrible,  not  lieeause  of  the  injury  in- 
ili-ii'd  on  liimsi'If.  iint  at  the  .^ijjht  of  the  dpiiion,  wlio  had  not  only  destroyer! 
(I'le  anqel  ol  love,  but  inine«l  a'  the  extiiu-tion  of  another.  What  fiend  of 
nnlice  eonid  liave  induced  her  ihim  to  attempt  the  life  of  one  who  had  never 
Hijiire<J  her  e\en  in  ihoii„'lM,  he  was  utterly  al  a  low<  to  divine.  'I'liis,  how- 
e\ir,  wa.s  an  cvane.venl  rellei-tiun  that  pasned  like  li^htiiinf);  through  hid  mind 
He  did  not  K'lve  himself  time  to  dwell  either  iqwu  that  oru|Kin  the  incotnpre- 
lionnible  fact  of  her  re-appearance — -Iiik  only  «*are  wa.-<  lo  remove  fur  from  her 
dangrrouH  prijiiene'  her  he  loved  lli.s  (irst  :iri,  lliereforo,  after  viewing  ihn 
wound  was  to  wnsi  the  knife  'Vom  her  jfruxp,  then  lo  gain  time  and  freedom 
of  iU'tioii.  by  luirling  her  with  \iolenee  arrainflt  the  opftoBite  wall  of  the  bou- 
doir. Ill-  then  ciuglii  up  the  fainting  l{"nrielte,  and  plueing  her  u|Min  the 
III  d,  bathed  her  iein|ili^  with  a  stiinulat.vt;  eitse.nce  whieli  hapi>eiitMJ  to  be 
wiihin  hiK  r'-aeli  .\s  .she  gradually  revi7e<l.  he  tenderly  bade  her  to  remain 
•juiet,  and   tlnn   removing  the  key  .ind  loeking  thi;   duor  on  the  outiiide,  ap- 


\ 


THE    MONK    hMuin    OH    sF. 


)IIN 


\h:i 


proachtMi  the  body  ol'  tlie  (iui({U8tmg  lo<>kin)(  t'ouiiU*mt,  wlio,  rix;overin((  Inmi 
tho  vioIliico  uf  h*!i  t'ull,  wm  to  tlif  act  ofriHiiiK 

l)(isirou8  ol'  nttnoviiiK  httr,  yot  uiiwillinf;  to  (xime  p>-r-)onally  in  (-iii)t<tct 
with  (tnc  whom  Uv  luathfil  nearly  at*  nuirh  :ih  Ahiiallah  had,  h<-  ran^  the 
boudoir  bi'll  turioualy  for  hia  nervantM  itut  vain  tud  without  rcault  wan 
t\\^  summons  Ap:aiii  and  again  he  ran)(.  but  no  on«'  ap|H;ar(Ml.  I'nablc  U> 
a(;couiit  tor  thiH  ain^'iihir  (conduct  in  hut  douitmlifit,  Ik.  opuned  tht;  door  of  the 
boudoir  leading  u|Njn  thu  corridor,  and  nalif<l  through  the  vacuum  formt'd  by 
the  winding  Htairs  from  the  top  to  the  bottom,  in  a  voice  that  refunded  fear 
fully  throughout  the  chateau.  Nothing  but  echo  reopondcd  to  hm  call,  and 
the  tnaiiduin  seemed  detierted.  At  a  loss  wiiat  to  do,  the  liaron  wa-s  alinuHt 
frantic.  He  could  nr  deacead  to  look  for  hid  people,  leaving  behind  him 
the  hateful  and  feariu  'jnemy  of  hiu  wife,  whom  ahr  might  reach  and  doatroy 
before  hia  return,  and  yet  hia  repugnance  to  touch  her  wait  almoitt  iiLSur 
mountablr.  Aa  he  turned  to  re-enter  the  boud«ir,  the  blo«)d  from  liia  wound 
wati  now  strongly  marked  upon  his  boauni.  Thit,  for  the  tintt  tim<',  attracted 
her  notice. 

"  My  hand  lacked  quickness,"  she  muttered  with  a  deinoiuac  frown  ,  "  il 
was  not  that  blood  but  hera — that  of  the  iKlioim,  the  hateful  Baroness,  for  which 
my  soul  thirsted." 

'•  Wretch  !"  said  dc  Moiscourt,  compressing  mort  ly  his  convulsively 

closed  hand,  "  and  was  not  one  victim  suflicient '  VS  a.s  not  the  poisoning  of 
the  noblest  woman  that  ever  lived  on  I'urth — tlie  tir»t  llanxiess  de  Hoimx>urt, 
Bufiicient,  that  you  must  glut  your  vengeance  on  tin;  sucond  '" 

"  What  first — what  s«.'cond''  she  said  wildly.  "'Do  you  mean,'  site 
said  sternly,  yet  anxiously,  and  altcinpting  to  placi-  her  hand  u|Min  hiin — a 
movement  from  which  he  shrunk  with  loathing — "  that  the  first  Baronoas, 
the  i^dy  Krnestiiia  de  iioiscourt,  is  de.id '" 

"  Do  you  ask  the  question,  murderess  '  even  by  your  own  damnable  hand 
you  know  stie  died.     It  was  you  distilled  the  poison." 

"  And  the  Monk-Knight^"  she  qutsstioned,  wihlly  and  hoarsely. 

'•  What !   prelend  you  ignorance '  but  I  had  t'orgoiten  .  you  coino  from  the 
sepulchre  in  which  he  h:ul  buried  you.     What  hoous  it  to  you  t»  know  iluU, 
even  by  the  poison  you  gave  him  for  your  rival's  more  «(x't'dv  death  he  (wsr 
iahnd  and  by  his  own  iutnd 

••  ila  !"  slit!  said,  with  a  feartul  exultation,  "  then  1  am  revenged  litHli 
are  dead  '  'I'lit;  u'cursed  lovers  who  filled  my  .soul  with  hate  no  longer  live 
to  bl;uit  my  .^i^'ht  with  joy  1  miglil  not  share,  ami  I  am  iMinteni.  But  say," 
she  iiiuo.ied  eagerly,  '•  who  is  the  second  Baroness'  Blindi-d  by  my  rage  1 
distinguished  not  1  mjw  she  w.ia  ;i  vvoinan,  and  being  in  your  nuptial 
chamber,  more  freiiiieiilly  filled  by  Abdallali  than  yourself,  I  took  lor  granted 
that  I  had  disturbed  them  m  their  dallianc*-.  .Since  neither  you  imr  her  then 
I  distinguished  in  my  erring  judgiuent,  who  wa»  sin; — iliw  .■second  Baninuus 
do  Boiscourt — whom,  thinking  her  I  hato«i,  1  sought  U)  slay'" 

'•  It  can  matter  not  to  such  as  you,"  replied  the  Baron,  w^ornfully — one  to 
whom,  being  compared,  you  arts  even  as  a  Hetiate  to  a  Hebe." 

"  And   yet   melhinks,"    she    replied,    with    .savage   triumph,    her   every 


f 


1 


4    ". 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


11.25 


12.8 


■50 


u,  1^ 


12.2 

^U4 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  west  MAIN  STRKT 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4S03 


4^ 


184 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT   OF   ST.    JOHN. 


lHlt 


V 


^ 


feature  distorted  with  the  malevolence  of  her  nature — "  that  your  Heb6  issued 
from  the  womb  of  a  Hecate." 

"  What  mean  you,  woman?"  said  de  Boi  court,  eagerly^and  paling  as  he 
spoke. 

"  I  mean  that  I  am  doubly  revenged  if  it  be  Henriette,  and  now,  that  I  am 
somewhat  composed,  I  am  inclined  to  think  it  is.  Know,  Baron,  whom  now 
I  hate  nearly  as  much  as  those  who  with  subtlety  i  have  slain,  that  she  who 
is  called  Henriette  de  Gaston  is  my  daughter." 

"  Your  daughter  !  God  of  Heaven,  your  daughter  !"  exclaimed  de  Bois- 
court,  with  a  look  of  horror.  "  1  believe  it  not — the  proof,  the  proof— I 
want  the  proof" 

"  Nay,  Baron,"  retorted  the  Countess,  glorying  in  her  power  of  annoying 
him.  "  Was  not  Henriette  left  an  orphan  in  infancy  at  the  door  of  the  cha- 
teau de  Gaston,  and  did  not  the  detested  Baroness  obtain  her  thence  to  bring 
her  up  even  as  her  own  child  ?  She  was  mine,  when  I  was  scarce  seventeen. 
To  save  my  honor  she  was  left  there  by  her  father." 

"  And  who  is  her  father?  1  never  heard  of  him — not  even  that  you  had 
had  a  lover  then.     Who  was  he  ?" 

"  Can  you  not  divine  ?  I  lived,  you  know,  under  the  roof  of  (he  godly,  the 
pious  Bishop  of  Clermont.  At  sixteen  I  was  a  woman  ;  at  seventeen  a 
mother." 

"  Surely  you  do  not  mean,"  said  the  pained  and  excited  de  Boiscourt, 
"to  insinuate——" 

"  Not  to  insinuate,"  she  interrupted,  with  indescribable  and  triumphant  bit- 
ternem,  "  but  to  assert  the  father  of  Henriette  is  the  most  holy  a"d  reverend 
the  most  godly,  the  Bishop  of  Clermont,  who  stole  my  soul  even  before  he 
seduced  my  body,  and  made  me  that  which  I  have  ever  since  continued  to  be. 
My  child,"  she  added  fiercely — "the  child  of  crime,  the  proud  Baroness  de 
Boiscourt,  this  is  well !  Now  can  I  afford  to  lose  in  death  the  keen  desire  I 
mingle  with  my  hate,  for  the  memory  of  Abdallah.  Ha  !"  she  said,  as  sud- 
denly she  caught  sight  of  the  blood-stained  knife,  which  de  Boiscourt  had 
thrown  upon  the  floor  of  the  boudoir.    She  stooped  and  seized  it. 

Immersed  in  his  own  strong  and  painful  feelings,  de  Boiscourt  had  not 
noticed  the  action.  At  the  same  moment  the  sound  of  many  feet  were  heard 
ascending  the  stairs.  Distracted  at  what  he  saw  and  heard,  the  Baron 
turned  to  see  who  were  the  intruders.  This  was  the  occasion  taken  by  the 
Countess  to  accomplish  her  purpose.  The  sound  of  her  falling  body  caused 
him  to  turn  and  ascertain  the  cause,  when  to  his  dismay,  and  only  that  be- 
cause he  hated  that  she  should  choose  that  place  to  die,  he  saw  that  she  had 
inflicted  a  deep  wound  under  her  left  breast,  and  was  bleeding  fast.  The 
knife  she  still  grasped  tightly  in  her  hand,  and  fortunate  it  was,  perhaps, 
that  it  was  so,  for  just  at  this  moment  the  party,  whose  footsteps  had  been 
heard,  and  some  of  whom  were  not  particularly  friendly  to  the  Baron,  entered 
the  room,  and  witnessed  the  tragic  scene.  At  the  head  of  all  was  the  Bishop 
of  Clermont  himself,  holding  a  crucifix. 

Distracted  with  his  own  feelings,  dreading  lest  all  this  should  reach  the 
ear  of  the  dear  and  innocent  girl  whom  he  still  loved,  despite  of  her  unhappy 
birth  and  connexioa,  de  Boiscourt  was  torn  with  anxiety  to  have  the  body 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


185 


of  the  dying  woman  removed.  Under  the  circumstances  there  was  but  one 
course  for  him  to  pursue,  to  have  his  purpose  effected  promptly.  Calling 
the  Bishop  aside,  he  said  a  few  low  but  energetic  words  in  his  ear.  The 
Bishop  turned  red  and  pale  by  turns,  and  when  de  Boiscourt  had  ceased,  he 
bade  the  domestics,  who  had  brought  up  the  rear,  to  form  a  litter  of  one  of 
the  long  cushions  of  the  ottoman,  and  carry  her  forthwith  to  Clermont,  his 
own  outer  clerical  habit  having  been  thrown  over  to  conceal  the  body. 

Oppressed  by  feelings  impossible  to  describe,  the  Baron,  when  they  had 
departed,  entered  the  chamber  where  Henriette  was  yet  lying.  The 
alarmed  and  fearful  expression  of  her  face  assured  him  that  she  had  heard 
all.  She  scarcely  dared  to  look  him  in  the  face.  The  Baron  was  not  slow  to 
remark  this.  He  threw  himself  upon  his  knees  at  the  side  of  the  bed  and  em- 
braced her  tenderly,  exclaiming  as  he  did  so,  and  with  deep  feeling — "  Perish 
the  man  who  would  cruelly  and  unjustly  visit  upon  the  innocent  daughter, 
the  sins  of  the  mother,  however  infamous  or  steeped  in  guilt  the  latter. 
Henriette  my  beloved,  look  into  the  eyes — into  the  heart  of  your  de  Boiscourt. 
You  are  still  his  wife — in  the  eyes  of  God  and  man  you  shall  remain  so." 

Her  bosom  heaved  almost  to  bursting.  She  gave  a  loud  and  starting  shriek, 
m  which  gladness  and  sorrow  so  blended,  that  it  was  difiScult  to  say  which 
predominated.  She  was  overwhelmed,  subdued  with  his  generosity,  and 
never  did  woman  feel,  more  devoted  in  the  warmest  affections  of  her  heart 
than  Henriette  de  Gaston,  as  her  beloved  husband  raised  and  pillowed  her 
aching  head  upon  hie  generous,  open,  and  manly  breast. 


body 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

Tbb  excitement  that  prevailed  at  Clermont  and  its  immediate  vicinity  at 
the  sudden  apparition  and  tragic  end  of  the  niece  of  their  pastor  and  most 
pious  father  in  Grod,  was  very  great.  All  knew  that  she  had  suddenly  and 
unexpectedly  disappeared  ;  noae  knew  positively  how,  although  some  had 
ventured  to  affirm  that  she  had  been  seen  to  depart  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  foreet  with  a  tall  and  herculean  monk,  who  much  resembled  the  Confessor 
Gonzales ;  but  as  he  had  been  known  to  perish  a  few  days  afterwards,  that 
impression  had  been  removed,  and  the  whole  aflair  was  involved  in  mys- 
tery. As  for  the  Bishop  himself  he  was  by  ne  means  sorry  at  the  event, 
whatever  the  cause,  which  had  rid  him  of  the  presence  of  a  niece,  whose 
gallantries  in  the  neighborhood,  and  even  under  his  own  roof,  were  subjecting 
him  to  a  scandal  he  little  desired.  His  own  intimacy  with  her  had  long 
since  ceased,  or  rather  was  continued  only  at  rare  intervals;  but  he  was  in 
constant  dread,  lest  that  in  some  moment  of  unguardednees  and  imprudence, 
for  which  she  was  remarkable,  she  might  betray  the  secret  on  which  the 
preservation  of  her  honor  and  his  position  depended. 

When  the  Countess  first  appeared  at  the  chateau  de  Boiscourt,  in  the 
strange  and  wild  manner  we  have  seen,  and  fiercely  demanded  where  the 


■«;fiiSOTipf^ffS^_ 


4. 


/  y 


1S6 


THE  MONK  KNIGHT  OK  -ST.  JOHN. 


4': 


if' 


Baroness  de  Boiscourt  was  to  be  I'oiind,  the  terrified  domestics  scarcely 
doubting  that  they  had  seen  the  ghost  of  the  departed  woman,  ran  with  all 
the  speed  they  could  commaiul  to  the  residence  of  the  Bishop,  whom  they 
chanced  to  find  alone  and  disengaged,  and  who,  when  informed  of  what  facts 
they  could  relate,  prepared  to  return  with  them,  and  exorcise  the  spirit, 
which  all  agreed  in  stating  had  entered  the  chateau  at  their  departure.  Imme- 
diately they  set  out,  the  Bishop  fearing  that  in  the  state  of  mind  ascribed  to 
his  niece,  she  should  make  such  communication  to  de  Boiscourt  as  would 
prevent  him  from  fulfilling  his  engagement  with  Henriette  de  Gaston — the 
offepring  of  his  guilty  love — whom,  in  her  assumed  name  and  character,  he 
was  engaged  to  wed  to  the  lord  of  the  domain  on  the  morrow.  The  scene  he 
witnessed  has  already  been  described,  and  time  had  been  afibrded  him  to  be 
present  at  tliis  in  consequence  of  the  ^half-maddened  and  bewildered  woman 
having  consumed  more  than  an  hour  in  vain  attempts  to  discover  the  private 
stair-case  which  led  to  the  boudoir,  and  which  alone  had  been  used  since  the 
return  of  the  Monk-Knight  and  the  Baron  from  Palestine.  The  few  words 
whispered  in  his  ear  by  the  latter  on  his  arrival  had  been  more  than  sufficient 
to  satisfy  him  the  danger  he  feared  had  occurred,  and  glad  was  he  to  with- 
draw and  hide  his  confusion  with  the  disgusting  victim  of  his  sensual  and 
unholy  passion.  The  Countess  was  placed  in  a  room  where  no  one  had  access 
to  her  but  himself,  and  a  favorite  and  trustworthy  servant  of  his  own  imme- 
diate household.  The  wound  the  wretched  woman  had  inflicted  was  mortal. 
Life  was  ebbing  fast,  and  great  weakness  had  subdued  her  fierce  temper 
into  something  like  calm.  When  a  little  more  composed,  she  became  sen- 
sible that  her  hours  were  numbered,  and  the  pangs  of  remorse — the  fear  of 
dying  even  without  hope — took  possession  of  her  soul.  On  the  Bishop 
expressing  a  desire  to  know  everything  connected  with  her  strange  absence 
and  stranger  re-appearance,  she  narrated  all,  and  then,  after  having  confessed 
intrigues  and  adulteries,  as  numerous  as  her  years,  asked  for  and  ob- 
tained absolution.  After  this  she  became  more  calm,  and  spoke  of  the  bright 
destiny  that  awaited  their  child,  whom  in  the  blindness  of  her  rage  she  had 
so  nearly  murdered.  The  Bishop  shook  his  head,  and  repeating  the  words 
de  Boiscourt.  had  communicated  to  him,  gave  her  to  uoderstaod  that  her  own 
indiscretion  liad  spoiled  all,  since  but  for  that  the  Baron  would  have  known 
her  only  as  the  orphan  Henriette  de  Gaston,  but  that  h  was  impossible  to 
suppose,  the  true  fact  of  her  birth  and  parentage  being  known,  he  would  not 
discard  her  with  ignominy  from  the  chateau. 

Suddenly  on  hearing  this,  the  rage  and  disappointment  of  the  dying  woman 
resumed  their  empire.  She  rose  in  her  bed  with  features  still  ghastly  in  tha 
ferocity  of  their  expression — tore  her  hair  out  by  the  roots — snatched  the 
bandage  from  her  wound,  from  which  the  dark,  polluted  blood  gushed  froth- 
iiigly — and  cursed  and  raved  against  her  daughter,  de  Boiscourt,  and  her 
uncle.  As  the  latter  stooped  over  her  to  soothe  her,  she  grasped  him  by 
the  throat,  und  would  have  strangled  him,  but  for  her  failing  strength.  Sud- 
denly her  <'ye  became  fixed — a  deeper  and  bluish  pallor  overspread  her 
fact — her  hnnd»  n^laxed  their  grasp— one  heavy  sigh  she  gave  that  forced 
the  blood  in  a  .itream  from  her  gory  breast,  and  then  sank  her  head  upon 
the  pillow,  and  died. 


■  -l^ii**,,^.  -y^mme ,  ,i|iiiinin<iii»ii 


TilK  MONK   KNi(-;ir  Or   SI.   JOiiN. 


187 


It  was  a  horrible  sight.  Tlio  pious  Bishop  of  Clermont,  for  the  firiit  time, 
felt  the  keen  stings  of  remorse,  and  lie  passed  the  night  without  sleep.  At 
an  early  hour  the  next  morning,  he  received  from  the  Baron  a  summons  to 
repair  instantly  to  the  chateau.  He  felt  the  influence  he  had  lost — the  forced 
absence  of  self-dignity,  involved  in  this  unceremonious  demand  for  his  pres- 
ence. But  he  knew  that  he  was  in  the  power  of  the  Baron,  who  would  doubt- 
less heap  upon  Henriette  and  himself  every  possible  indignity.  Aller  giving 
instructions  for  the  disposal  of  the  body  of  the  Countess,  he  went  forth. 

For  two  hours  he  remained  closeted  with  de  Boiscourt,  and  when  he  came 
forth,  it  was  with  tears  in  his  eyes — the  first  that  proud  dignitary  had  ever 
been  seen  to  shed — all  who  saw  him  marvelled  at  the  sight,  but  none,  of 
(;ourse,  offered  a  comment:  the  assumption  was,  that  they  had  been  drawn 
forth  by  the  dangerous  conditioa  of  the  Countess,  for  as  yet  none  but  de  Bois- 
court knew  of  her  positive  death. 

When  the  interview  of  the  Baron  with  the  Bishop  had  terminated,  he 
sought  the  chamber  of  the  trembling  Henriette.  How  differently  are  men 
constituted — how  noble,  and  generous,  and  self-sacrifising,  some  hearts — how 
narrow  and  selfish  are  others !  So  far  from  the  sweet  girl  losing  power  over 
the  Knight,  by  the  painful  facts  which  have  been  made  known,  his  love  for  her 
was  increased.  Burning  with  desire  to  relieve  her  mind  from  any  latent 
doubt  she  might  entertain,  the  Baron  rushed  to  her  boudoir,  where  he  found 
her  reclining  on  an  ottoman,  and  regarding  with  an  air  of  melancholy  and 
distraction  the  wedding  trousseau  which  had  been  prepared  for  her,  and 
which  lay  untouched  in  a  cistant  corner  of  the  room. 

'^  Nay,  love,"  said  the  impetuous  Baron,  throwing  hhnself  at  her  side,  and 
pressing  her  fondly  to  his  heart,  "  why  this  serious  mood — this  seeming 
mistrust  of  myself — of  my  desire  to  make  you  my  own  adorod  and  honored 
wife!" 

She  burst  into  tears  and  pillowed  her  face  upon  his  bosom,  sobbing  violently. 

"  Ah  I  what  but  disgrace  can  I  bring  you  after  the  past'  I  have  been 
thinking  seriously  of  this.  De  Boiscourt,  dear  de  Boiscourt,  I  am  yours,  you 
know  how  dearly  ;  but  let  not  a  mere  sense  of  honor  and  delicacy  induce  you 
to  fulfil  a  vow  made  under  far,  far  different  circumstances.  I  will  be  still 
yours,  but  without  the  form  of  :i  marriage,  which  must  later  bring  regret 
and  repentance  to  you." 

"  Noble  and  devoted  girl !"  rejoined  the  Baron,  with  unspeakable  tender- 
ness of  voice  and  manner,  again,  and  afTcctionalely,  lie  drew  her  to  his  heart, 
"  ten  thousand  times  more  am  I  wedded  to  my  purpose  No  woman  but  your- 
self, wears  the  proud  name  of  de  Boiscourt 's  wife." 

"Oh,  God!  is  it  possible?"  she  exclaimed,  clasping  lier  hands,  and  rais- 
ing them  with  her  dark  and  humid  eyes  towards  Heavon.  "  And  shall  I, 
the  imhappy  child  of  crime  and  shame,  !)0  indeed  so  e'lerished,  so  regarded, 
BO  honored?  Ah!  no;  for  the  moment,  de  Hoisi  uiirt,  you  think  so,  but 
when  time  shall  have  sated  your  ardent  desire,  and  the  offspring  of  our  pas- 
sion stands  before  you  in  licentious  blood,  will  you  not  then  curse  its  mother, 
even  as  I  have  reason  to  curse  mine?" 

"  Nay,  dear  Henriette,  can  it  be  possible  that  you  thus  misjudge  me. 
Listen  to  me,  dearest,  and  you  will   learn   liow  little  cause  there  would  be 


) 


mStUMi  'I  ihiiiLfc  t"i8Mfai  ii«i  Am. J* 


*»-^1ftfcfcu-iii^<M.i^iiJ'fci'Ol'i 


'»ii'>itilMliir|'^f»;i#ii»iBHflHilitii' 


ii 


188 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OK   ST.    JOHN. 


for  me  to  pursue  so  inhuman  a  course,  even  were  it  possible  that  1  should  do 
so.  No  one  knows  the  secret  but  your  mother,  and  him  whose  name  I.will  not 
raise  the  blush  to  your  cheek  by  naminif.  The  former,  1  am  {(lad  to  say,  i» 
dead,  and  no  human  consideration,  you  may  be  well  assured,  will  induce  the 
latter  to  betray  or  even  expose  himself.  If.  therefore,  no  one  but  ourselves 
possess  the  secret — what  fear  of  the  opinion  of  the  world — the  bug-bear  that 
men  most  shun  upon  earth  ?  No  !  my  beloved,  you  were  my  wife  yesterday 
and  shall  be  so  to-day.  All  is  arranged.  This  night  the  Bishop  pionounce* 
the  vows  with  which  we  cheat  the  world  into  much  belief  of  virtue,  and  never 
after  that  approache.s  us. 

"  Oh  !  generous,  noble  de  Boiscourt,"  said  the  agitated  girl — "  how,  how 
shall  I  repay  this  nobleness  of  soul  ?  Some  relief  it  is  to  know  that  guilty 
man,  whom  I  abhor  not  for  myself  so  much  as  for  you,  shall  never  more 
address  me.  I  cannot  bear  to  look  at  him,  and  only  your  presence,  and  the 
rite  he  desecrates,  could  sustain  me  now." 

"  Then  let  me  see  you  brilliant  in  smiles,  and  forgetfulness  of  all  that  has 
occurred  to  distress  you.  Think  of  yourself  only  as  Henriette  de  Gaston, 
the  charming,  chosen  of  Ernestina — the  gentle  dove  brought  up  by  her  to 
nestle  later  in  her  husband's  bosom."  ^ 

"  Oh !  how  good  you  are — how  you  bring  consolation  to  a  heart  that  else, 
indeed  were  most  truly  wretched,  De  Boiscourt,  you  will  make  me  love 
you  very  much." 

"  Besides,  what  matter,  love,"  he  returned  smiling,  while  he  pressed  her 
fondly  to  his  bosom — "  what  matter  even  were  the  Countess  guiltier  far  than 
yet  we  know.  Not  the  birth  itself  but  the  manner  of  our  days  must  form  the 
test  by  which  all  human  worth  is  judged.  Have  we  not  watched  you  as  our 
own,  and  made  part  and  parcel  of  ourselves.  Mere  birth  enlarges  not — en- 
nobles not  the  soul.  Education  does.  But  hush,  love,  there  is  some  one  at 
the  door. — Come  in." 

The  door  was  opened,  and  the  gentle  Zuleima,  who  had  in  some  degree 
been  made  acquainted  with  the  events  of  the  morning,  appeared  at  the 
entrance. 

"  Ah  !  rny  dear  bridesmaid,"  said  Henriette,  rallying — "  come  to  give  me 
courage  to  don  these  trappings,  which  tell  the  world  Henriette  de  Gaston  is 
this  night  to  be  the  happiest  of  women." 

"  Then  will  I  leave  you  with  her  to  talk  of  this,"  said  de  Boiscourt,  im- 
printing a  kiss  upon  the  cheek  of  his  beloved.  "Zuleima,  it  is  long  since 
our  lips  have  met,  and  strange  things  have  happened  since  they  did.  Rudolph 
must  not  bo  jealous  of  this.     I  have,  you  know,  a  prior  claim." 

Tiie  heaving  of  the  bosom  of  the  Saracen,  and  the  crimson  which  gathered 
on  her  cheek,  proclaimed  how  deeply  she  retained  the  impression  left  on  her 
mind  by  the  recollection. 

"  Oh  !  Rudolph  will  never  be  jealous  of  those  he  loves,"  remarked  Hea- 
riette.     "  You  will  not  let  him,  dearest,  will  you  ?" 

"  Rudolph  loves  the  Baron  too  dearly  for  him  ever  to  be  jeulous,"  said  the 
Saracen  with  a  sigh.  "  Can  Henriette's  husband  say  the  same,"  she  added, 
laughingly. 


THK    MONK    KNItiUT    OK    ST.    JOHN. 


189 


I  should  do 
le  I.will  not 
id  to  say,  in 

induce  the 
It  ourselves 
ig-hear  that 
e  }  esterday 
pronounces 

and  never 

how,  how 
that  guilty 
never  more 
ce,  and  the 

ill  that  haa 
de  Gaston, 
I  by  her  to 

t  that  else, 
me  love 

)re8sed  her 
er  far  than 
St  form  the 
you  as  our 
is  not — en- 
sme  one  at 

>me  degree 
red  at  the 

to  give  me 
Gaston  is 


court,  im 
long  since 
.  Rudolph 

i  gathered 
eft  on  her 

ked  Hea- 

"  said  the 
he  added, 


»«v 


"It  is  as  Henriette  shall  decide,''  remarked  de  Boiscourt,  as  he  pressed 
the  glowing  cheek  of  the  charming  bridesmaid. 

"  Nothing  will  I  interpose  to  prevent  a  repetition  of  that  kiss,  or  make  out 
«mion  any  but  a  happy  one,"  said  the  young  girl,  with  animated  look  and 
voice.  p  ,> 

"  You  hear  that,  dear  Zuleima,"  said  the  Baron ;  "  but  I  must  leave  you 
to  aeltlc  what  is  the  true  point  of  jealousy  between  yourselves.  I  must  with 
Rudolph  to  superintend  the  arrangements  for  our  marriage  ;"  and  once  more 
fondly  embracing  the  young  girl,  he  departed. 


i 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 


While  Henriette  and  Zuleima  are  forming,  in  all  the  generosity  of  heart 
peculiar  to  them,  their  delightful  plans  for  the  future,  and  the  Baron  and 
Rudolph  are  engaged  in  superintending  the  preparations  for  the  grand  cere- 
monial of  the  evening,  let  us  take  the  opportunity  of  briefly  narrating  to  the 
reader,  the  manner  in  which,  as  stated  to  her  uncle,  who  in  his  turn  had 
communicated  the  facts  to  de  Boiscourt,  the  Countess  of  Clermont  contrived 
to  escape  from  the  gloomy  tomb  into  which  she  had  been  introduced  by  the 
unhappy  and  heart-broken  Monk-Knight. 

When  left  alone,  in  utter  darkness,  with  the  dying  Coeur-de-Fer,  to  whose 
body  she  was  too  firmly  secured  to  hope  for  a  release,  the  agony  of  her  fear 
was  such  that  for  some  time  she  had  lost  her  senses,  and  when  she  did  re- 
cover them,  it  was  only  to  yell  in  fiendish  hate  against  the  authors  of  the 
anguish  that  filled  her  soul.  Desperation  gave  her  the  strength  of  a  lioness, 
and  with  prodigious  eSbrta  she  managed  to  gain  her  feet,  dragging  up  in  the 
act,  to  her  side,  the  heavy  body  of  her  now  dead  paramour,  and,  moving  step 
by  step  in  the  utter  darkness  that  prevailed,  sustained  by  the  hope  that  she 
might  encounter  some  cutting  instrument,  or  sharp  and  detatched  stone, 
which  might  rend  asunder  the  strong  bonds  that  united  them.  By  a 
refinement  of  cruelty  in  the  just  punishment  he  had  inflicted  upon  her,  the 
Monk-Knight  had  left  her  the  complete  liberty  of  her  hands,  being  well-as- 
sured that  she  could  find  nothing  in  that  damp  cell  to  undo  the  Arm  series  of 
knots  in  the  small  but  strong  cord,  which  bound  waist  to  waist,  in  the 
closest  possible  contact,  and  therefore  she  was  enabled  to  grope  with  her 
hands  along  the  wall,  still  dragging  the  heavy  corpse  along  with  her.  At 
length  she  came  to  an  opening,  which,  from  her  description,  must  have 
been  one  of  the  cells  in  which  the  Lady  Ernestina  and  the  Monk-Knight  had 
been  confined.  This  opening  she  entered,  and  a  ray  of  hope  entered  her  sick 
soul,  as  she  felt  for  the  time  the  iron  railing,  which  seemed  to  promise  the 
approach  to  some  spot  where  relief  might  be  obtained.  Suddenly  her  pro- 
gress was  stayed  by  an  obstacle  striking  against  her  knees.  She  put  her 
hand  down,  it  was  the  low  bed  which  bad  been  occupied  by  the  Lady  Erneth 
tina.     The  body  of  Coeur-de-Fer  struck  against  it  also,  and,  overbalanced, 


1 


-'-■'•"-'•• ' ''*"~i'iTirf'-*-rt  ''^-•■1     ' :: 


illM''   ■ 

m 


Wi 


If 


190 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


foil  over,  dragging  her  this  time  over  with  him.  Fatigued  as  she  wsm  with 
the  superhuman  etTortB  she  had  made,  her  senses  could  not  resiot  the  luxurious 
inducement  to  repose.  Scarcely  had  she  touched  the  soil  cusliions  when  she 
fell  asleep,  with  her  anna  involuntarily  thrown  around  the  nock  of  the  dead 
man,  in  Order  to  obtain  more  room  on  the  narrow  couch.  According  to 
her  belief  she  must  have  slept  for  days  and  nights ;  for  although  she  had 
not  felt  hunger  before,  the  gnawings  of  appetite  were  now  so  fierce  upon 
her  that  she  groaned  in  a  new  agony.  The  ferocity  of  her  hunger  hourly 
increased.  She  attempted  to  rise  to  distract  her  attention  by  motion,  but 
she  found  this  to  be  impossible  Her  strength  was  gradually  lessening,  and 
the  fast  stiffening  body  of  ( 'leur-der-Fer  opposed  a  resistance  she  had  not 
hitherto  experienced.  The  burning  pangs  of  hell  were  (!von  in  her  heart. 
Hunger  seemed  to  scorch  up  her  very  entrails.  She  shrieked  mjully  through 
the  sombre  vaults.  The  echoes  of  the  curses  and  cries  she  uttered  were  the 
only  response.  Had  the  Lady  Ernestina  been  there  she  would  have  lorn  out 
her  heart  with  her  fingers  and  devoured  it.  Suddenly  a  new  idea  took  pos- 
session of  her  soul.  Had  there  been  light  it  would  have  betrayed  the  fiendish 
expression  of  her  glassy  eye.  It  endeavored  to  penetrate  the  darkness  but 
could  not :  she  tore  the  covering  from  the  upper  form  of  Coeur-de-Fer,  and 
fastened  her  teeth  into  the  cold  and  lifeless,  yet  still  quivering  shoulder 
The  blood  came  slowly,  yet  did  not  appease  her  appetite.  The  rage  of 
hunger  grew  more  ardent,  more  intolerable.  She  gnawed  into  the  fast 
corroding  flesh,  and  greedily  swallowed  the  nauseous  food.  She  appeased 
her  hunger,  but  soon  a  sickening  sensation  of  loathing  came  over  her,  and  she 
disgorged  the  putrid  mass.  In  her  agony  and  disappointment  at  not  being 
able  to  retain  the  disgusting  nutriment,  she  uttered  furious  shrieks  and  threw 
her  arms  wildly  around.  As  they  fell,  exhausted  with  her  strong  action, 
over  her  head,  her  hands  suddenly  rested  upon  the  table  which  had  been 
placed  there  by  the  J^ady  Ernestina.  A  new  hope  now  stirred  within  her. 
She  passed  one  hand  rapidly  over  the  table,  and  the  revulsion  of  her  mind 
from  despair  to  hope  may  be  conceived  when  it  encountered  the  knife  which 
had  before  been  used,  although  she  knew  it  not,  to  give  freedom  to  the  limbs 
of  the  tenants  of  that  dark  abode.  In  the  fierceness  of  her  surprise,  she  grasped 
the  blade  unconsciously  and  inflioted  a  slight  wound  upon  her  hand,  butsooa 
possessing  herself  of  the  handle,  cut  away  the  cords  which  bound  her  to  the 
loathsome  form  of  Coeur-de-Fer. 

She  breathed,  and  freely,  for  even  in  her  anguish  she  had  found  a  joy — 
bl;e  was  a  shade  less  wretched  than  before.  She  rose  from  the  bed,  and 
with  light  head  and  trembling  feet.  A  secret  instinct  told  her  that  the  table 
might  supply  her  with  other  means  of  relief.  She  approached  it,  and 
groping,  placed  her  hands  upon  what  appeared  to  her  to  be,  and  what  on 
smelling  it,  she  found  was,  u  pig's  cheek.  This  she  greedily  seized  and 
devoured,  until  scarce  a  particle  of  flesh  remained  upon  it.  Pier  raging 
hunger  appeased,  she  sought  for  water.  Again  sha  groped  along  the  table  : 
her  hand  now  encountered  a  bottle  filled  with  liquid.  With  the  knife  she 
still  held  in  her  hand  she  knocked  off  the  neck.  She  smelt  it ;  it  was  wine. 
She  knew  not  of  what  precise  quality,  but  still  it  was  wine.     She  pIaoe«i 


Pit 


THE    MONK    KNIGHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


191 


the  sliatiered  neck  to  her  lips,  nor  did  she  remove  it  until  she  had  drained  the 
whole  of  its  contents.  Revived  by  thJB,  she  proceeded  to  grope  for  an  exit, 
which  alie  thought  could  not  be  far  distant,  seeing  that  there  were  such  strong 
evidences  of  sonio  of  the  conitort^ — even  luxuries  of  life  around  her.  Still 
all  was  dark  as  midnight.  Again  she  groped  along  the  bars  which  conducted 
to  an  opening  which  led  ajjain  to  a  wall  of*8ome  extent.  On  arriving  at 
the  extremity,  she  was  iistonishcd  on  looking  up  to  see  the  light  of  day  ad 
mitted  through  a  small  square  aperture  nearly  over  her  head.  A  human  face 
was  looking  down  into  the  darkness.  She  uttered  a  shriek  so  startling  that 
the  whole  cavern  resounded  with  it,  as  with  the  explosion  of  a  mine.  A  cry 
of  terror  was  answered  from  above,  and  the  face  had  disappeared.  The 
wretched  woman  examined  more  closely,  and  found  that  instead  of  going 
deeper  into  the  grated  rooms  ahe  had  turned  upon  her  own  steps,  and  was 
even  now  at  the  very  spot  whence  she  had  set  out.  It  was  evident  to  her  tha* 
this  was  the  only  clianco  of  escape,  and  that  it  had  been  alTorded  to  her  by 
some  passing  peasant  who  had  seen  the  ring  and  lifted  up  the  trap-door,  in 
order  to  indulge  his  curiosity,  but  who,  alarmed  by  her  terrifying  cry,  had 
suddenly  fled,  leaving  the  door  unclosed.  With  horror  at  her  heart,  lest 
some  unforeseen  occurrence  should  again  close  the  means  of  egress  to  her, 
she  rushed  up  the  stops  like  a  maniac,  with  the  knife  still  tightly  grasped  in 
her  hand,  and  fired  with  jealousy  and  a  desire  of  vengeance,  whicii  were 
rendered  more  fiendish  by  the  fumes  of  the  strong  potion  she  had  taken, 
repaired  to  the  chates'u,  terrified  the  servants,  who,  believing  her  to  be  a 
ghost,  fled  at  her  approach,  and  entered  the  boudoir  of  Henrietta,  whom  she 
mistook,  for  the  rival  of  whose  unhappy  fate  she  was,  of  course,  ignorant— 
and  enacted  the  scene  which  has  already  been  described. 


CONCLUSION. 

Scarcely  need  we  dwell  upon  tiie  particulars  of  the  union  of  de  Boiscourt 
with  his  beloved  Henriette.  The  ceremony  was  performed  with  all  the 
pomp  and  dignity  usual  to  people  in  high  condition  in  similar  circumstances, 
and  little  did  the  mass  of  guests  there  assombled,  imagine  that  the  retired  and 
modest-looking  bride  who  entered,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  man  she  adored, 
already  carried  beneath  her  heart  the  foundation  of  a  noble  line,  they  were 
there  met  to  see  legalized  by  the  forms  of  the  Church.  Henriette  looked 
absolutely  luvishing  in  her  beauty,  and  /I,.,  ,ima,  who  regarded  her  with 
great  admiration,  whisjjered  in  the  ear  of  Hudolph,  while  she  pressed  his 
hand,  that  ho  seemed  to  tiiink  so  too  The  handsome  Page,  now  fully  grown 
in  manhood,  acknowledged  with  a  deep  blush,  that  he  did,  but  slyly  retorted 
that  his  beloved  wife  seemed  equally  impressed  with  the  commanding  form 
and  manliness  of  de  Boiscourt.  Zuleima  looked  up  into  his  face  and  smiled  ; 
then  when  she  saw  a  very  provoking  expresssion  in  his  wicked  eyes,  she 
dropped  her  own  and  colored  up  to  the  brow. 


:„-'  'Itatgjjfe? 


1 OJ 


r}IK    MONK    KNKiHT    OF    ST.    JOHN. 


1| 


i:| 


Tlie  (vinnony  wa^t  |W!rlbriiiL'(l  witii  jjrcat  soltsiniiity  and  dignity  hy  thft 
Hisliop  of  Clonncml.  who,  altor  rt!ii(lin(f  a  j;ravc  homily  »»  the  purity,  and 
aanctily.  ami  i-xelu.iivcnt'.sx  of  tlie  inarriafrc-bi'd,  and  ooiidomninf;  ffuilty  in- 
diiljjLMnv'  ill  llic  fli'sii.  wtMil  throiiuh  tlu>  ('ormula'  u.siial  on  thes(<  occasionH. 
'I'hc  most  hnlliant  H'Mlivititia  succciMlfd,  bill  ion;^  pw,  tliem'  were  ondod,  tlm 
wile  and  the  luisi)aii(i,  wild  with  impetuous  love,  liad  disappoanul,  leaving 
Hiiilolph  and  the  lender  '/uleima  to  finish  the  honorH  they  had  bepun  them- 
.-(elves.  \i  li'nsrtli.  to  tlie  (Treat  relief  of  tius  latter,  the  puests  departed,  well 
pleased  with  the  manner  of  their  entertainment,  and  all  the  old  maids  of 
the  vilheje — for  stranf»oto  say,  there  were  still  some  in  Aiiverpno — enchanloil 
with  the  sermon  on  eonlinenen,  which  had  been  so  eloquently  proucliod  by 
the  Hishop,  very  properly  looked  upon  in  his  diocese  as  an  uncompromising 
enemy  to  the  lusts  of  the  flesh. 

In  the  whole  of  Auvergne — nay,  in  the  whole  of  France,  there  were  not 
two  happier  eouples  than  those  of  whom  we  reluctantly  take  our  leave, 
or  whose  imaginations  dwelt  mor  dfeamily  on  the  charm  of  that  indiasoluble 
wedded  love  linked  their  glowing  souls  in  confidence  and  friendship.  From  the 
hot  loves  of  the  Baron  and  the  charming  Henriette  sprang  a  long  and  honorablfl 
line,  the  last  of  which  perished  in  the  last  of  the  hundred  revolutions  of 
France — thus  relieving  us  of  onr  pledge  to  the  old  garde-chasse. 


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•EWitTlc|/^VlNrO«T 


TRIBUNE  BUILDINCS 

18i® 


>. 


!«0^ 


-•I 


i 


PRIOB  50  OUNTS. 


I' 


:  I 


WILL  BE  PUBLISHED  IN    OCTOBER. 


TIE  G'lAtl  OF  NEW  YORE 


a  Nooel. 


fi   Y 


.ft^  B  U  N  T  L  I  N  K  , 


^  i,J^."     :ii»<*»r  (/••'"TAe  M^mritt  and  MinrUff  New  Ymrk." 


> 


mpt  pnbliaiMd  in  thk  country  entted  more  exoilemmt  or  met  with  •  more  •sten«ii>>  mI< 
then  ttif  tAK-ri^uo  Mtstuiu  and  Misbkus  or  Niw  YokX ;  ud  the  reaeon  is  oh*ioMr->they  p.oMDt 
in  8  form  eaijr  to  be  nn<lerttood,  a  most  stastuno  Pictum  of  the  VioKa  andthaViftTUta,  theMoRiui 
and  the  Mannim  of  tha  large  part  of  our  oommnnitjr  who  are  sailed  the  Woanif*  Clam  ;  and  no  ' 
99*^  haa  had  mortJippoWnity  of  becoming  aaquafaited  with  the  daUiia  of  thefar  life,  in  all  ita  lighuiud 
ttifiidta,  than  Ur.' JtidiM.  who  haa  been  emphatioally  called  the  Fiiihd  or  xn  Woaciiio  Man.  The 
priaeat  .Wdr^  the  ,Q!ha^V  I*kw.Xo»k,  abosnda  far  more  than  "  Taa  Mtstibiu"  in  all  thoM  startling 
manifaif^j}pap  of  raaogth,  vividnaair  and  powar;  and  that  keen  indght  into  and  rapid  appreciaticm  of 
^hUMl^.'i^haie  die  alrikiBf  ^tat^oleriatioa  of  itarfopdlw  author,  who  lays  open  to  our  view,  with 
<■  JWWtiflilig  baatf,  the  ha'iahM'  "iii  nXwrlea  of  our  «ieial  ayatem ;  ezhiUto  in  ill  ita  vatlad  phiues,  the 
Liri  or  WiM^.  hi  our  gteat  MettupoUa ;  and  we  qoealien  mneh  whether  a  more  toM«hing  acene  has 
eve^  been  painted  than  that  in  which  the  Orphans,  Mary  and  Susan,  beautifiil,  poor,  but  yet  Tirtuous,  ire 
compelled  by  their  terror  of  a  grasping  landlord,  and  the  cnTiap  of  hunger^-Hiot  of  tfaenuelves,  but  of 
their  little  helpless  siatersr— (o  surrender  op  that  Tirtoe  which  they  prised  mare  than  Ufe.  And  particu- 
larly at  the  praaent  time,  w4Mn  public  attention  is  strongly  tuned  to  the  autyect,  and  the  working  man 
is  diing  inJAi  might  to  ahske  off  the  elriiilldiat  weigh  him  to  the  earth,  and  to  demand  a  just  equiva- 
lent for  hia  labor.thla  hook  which  pfeseMa  such  a  sUrtling  view  of  tiie  vice  and  misery  engendered  by 
the  poor-paying  aii4  Mn-paying  system,  is  calculated  not  only  to  gire  the  laboring  man  a  just  appre- 
ciation of  Wi  righu,  but  also  for  the  employer,  that  he  may  see  the  justice  of  the  n\axim— "  the 
Laborer  b^^Oirflly  of  trie  hita."    It  is,  in  fact,  the  book  for  the  fatfJ*, 


Agents  and  thd  Tnde  will  please  forward  th«r  Orders  etrljr^  aid  Ana  prevent 
delay  in  executing  them. 


2CtttJ    Cork: 
0EWITT  &   DAVENPORT,  TRIBUNE  BUILDINGS. 


180  0. 


itmemm 


Bi 


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JR. 


YOM: 


N  E, 


*." 


Ith  a  mora  «xU>nfiivi  niI« 

kt  oVytoM/^4bey  p.eMat 

jMVlMnu.  the  Morals 

IToKKiw  Clam  ;  and  no  ' 

rlife.inallitiliKhuiud 

m  WoRKiMa  Man.    The 

im"  in  all  thoM  startling 

ad  Mpid  appieciatkm  of 

I  open  to  oar  view,  with 

til  ito  TSlied  phases,  the 

aore  touehiog  icene  hm 

oor,  but  yet  virtuous,  are 

mot  of  thenuelves,  but  of 

diin  Ufe.    And  particu- 

t,  aad  tiM  working  m«n 

9  demand  a  juat  equiva- 

d  miierjr  engendered  bf 

oriog  man  a  just  appre- 

i«  of  the  n^xim— "  the 

ft  a>d  Aos  prevent 


LDINGS. 


sjasp -;.;_»**• 


